


Blades of Silver, Hearts of Gold

by Scribo_Vivere



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Commodore Castiel, Golden Age of Piracy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pirate Dean Winchester, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 42,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribo_Vivere/pseuds/Scribo_Vivere
Summary: Corsair Winchester is the most feared pirate in the Caribbean waters. When he makes it his goal to attack the Pride of Heaven, a massive ship that is part of Port Lawrence's Naval fleet, he finds himself ill-prepared in every way to come face to face with Commodore Castiel Novak, the brother of the man he wishes dead. It seems an easy solution to take the Commodore captive, but Castiel's ocean-blue eyes, kissable mouth, and fiery defiance make Winchester begin to question his choice. As a war ensues on all fronts, it remains to be seen who is the prisoner, who is the master, and how far both men will go in the name of prudence, sacrifice, and love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am thrilled to have worked with my artist to produce what has taken me almost two and a half years to fully flesh out, before deciding to present it for this year's DCBB. Please go check out the amazing work they've done for illustrations at oh-cassie.tumblr.com. As always, thank you to all who have waited so patiently for this piece. I am deeply grateful for your support and suggestions!

The  _ Bloody Mary  _ slid through the still, black waters with nary a sound, her crew resting peacefully within the hold. Not a creature stirred above sea or below—save for the  _ Mary _ 's captain, Corsair Winchester.

At forty years of age, the dashing pirate was the youngest to ever man a ship and crew in the Caribbean, yet no one dared mock him or question his ability to lead. Broad-shouldered and tall, with sandy brown hair, freckles, and expressive eyes the color of far-off China's emeralds, Winchester was the envy of men and the desire of women. He'd robbed thirty-six vessels within three months, earning him a bounty of nearly five hundred pounds on his head, but the prospect of being sent to Davy Jones' Locker at any moment did not faze the hardened pirate. A lifetime of misfortune and misery had turned him to piracy, and he would face Hell and all her minions before surrendering to the Crown—or anyone else.

“Your thoughts are loud enough to wake the dead.”

The Corsair did not turn from his position at the helm, his gaze held fast upon the open sea.

“As are your romps with the wench Ruby. Tell me, brother mine, do you ever rest?”

Four years his junior, Samuel Winchester chuckled softly, stepping forward to lean against the rail.

“Only at her command, it would seem, and only after she has had her fill of me.”

Winchester's nose wrinkled in distaste.

“I beg you not to enlighten me with tales of your exploits.”

Samuel grinned. “Aye, and what of you? Has no fair maiden or manservant so captured your heart as to warm your bed?”

The reply was instant. “Nay. Love lies far beneath my duty.”

Samuel's expression grew at once troubled and somber. “Has revenge become your bedmate, then?”

Winchester's jaw tightened. “As well she should. Do not forsake the reason for which we spite the whole of the Crown.”

“Mother has never left my heart,” Samuel replied quietly. “Would that I could turn back the hands of time, and see the face I never knew.”

Chastised, Winchester sighed. “My tongue runs before my thoughts. I am sorry.” He paused. “Yet you must know I cannot let her death go unpunished.”

A beautiful woman of fair skin, flaxen hair, and gentle eyes, Mary Winchester had been the talk of men. It was a sailor, however, that had drawn her heart, and she had borne him two sons. Determined to be always at her husband's side, Mary had followed him to sea, only for their ship to be attacked barely three months into their voyage. She had reportedly fought to the last, her demise too brutal to be spoken of save in hushed whispers. Her husband was never seen again, presumably taken captive only to die in the bowels of some other vessel as a slave.

Orphaned and penniless at four years and six months, respectively, Winchester and his brother had been left to fight for their very lives. At the tender age of ten, Samuel had been caught thieving bread from a nearby shop, and was doomed to prison. Knowing Fate would give them but one chance, Winchester had taken his brother and fled in the dead of night to the bowels of the  _ Hellion _ , a mysterious ship that had docked for supplies the evening before.

It was not long after the  _ Hellion  _ put out to sea again that the boys were discovered, and it was made known they trespassed on a pirate vessel. Instead of throwing them overboard, the captain, Fergus MacLeod, took pity on the two waifs and brought them under his wing, teaching them everything he knew. Upon his deathbed from scurvy, Fergus had bestowed upon Winchester a ship of his own, and the man had quickly named Samuel as his second-in-command, taken a crew, and set to plundering every unsuspecting vessel they had met. It was the least that could be done, Winchester had reasoned, to reap the benefits of all the world that had deserted them in their hour of need.

Now, his solemn vow was naught but to find the ones responsible for their misery, and wipe them from the face of the earth.

“We shall not forsake her memory,” Samuel said softly. “Those who perpetrated such evils upon us will be unable to hide forever.”

Winchester's fingers tightened on the helm.

“Aye, and when we rout them, they'll all burn.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Is it suitable?”

From behind the privacy screen, Lady Anna Novak eyed the ruched sky-blue gown. Her attempt to speak quickly turned into an undignified squeak as the maid pulled the strings of the bodice tight.

“Anna?” The voice of her brother, slightly concerned, was heard after a moment’s silence. “I do hope it fits.”

“If by ‘fit’, you mean to say that women who wear this fashion have no desire for air, then--” Another squeal interrupted her answer, and Michael sighed irritably.

“It’s been all the rage in London,” he replied, tone clipped. “Come, let me see you.”

Shooing the maid away from any further attempts at fussing, Anna stepped out into the room proper, smoothing back a curl of her auburn hair, which had been pinned with golden combs.

Lord Michael Novak was not a man given to displays of emotion, but his eyes became soft when he saw her. Stepping forward, he took her face in his hands, planting a gentle kiss upon her brow.

“You are stunning, my darling.”

In such a moment, Anna could almost bring herself to believe that, despite his arrogance and occasional cruelty, Michael truly loved his family, doting on her solely for her pleasure and not to make himself appear benevolent in the eyes of others.

Almost.

Sure enough, Michael’s next words were proud.

“Castiel’s transitional ceremony to the role of Commodore today will be of great importance. You will be a beautiful, welcome sight for the people.”

And there it was. Michael lived for himself and his own accolades, nothing more.

Swallowing a sudden rush of anger, Anna only smiled placidly. In her condition, the doctor had severely warned against undue stress.

A gentle tap at the door to the room was heard, followed by its opening. Castiel entered, but stopped in his tracks upon seeing Anna. Wordlessly, he walked over to bend his face toward her hand, lips brushing her smooth knuckles.

“My dear sister,” he murmured. “Am I in the presence of a goddess?”

Anna giggled, pushing at his shoulder. “You spoil me with your words, brother.”

Michael cleared his throat, and Castiel reluctantly stood upright, turning to face his older sibling. His expression was cool.

“Good morning, Michael.”

He received only a terse nod in return. There was no love lost between the two.

At fifty, Michael was eight years Castiel’s senior, and had inherited the entire estate and wealth of their Port Lawrence residence when their father, Lord Charles Novak, had died unexpectedly in his sleep three years before. It had been a crushing blow to all three Novaks and the entirety of Port Lawrence, especially as Charles had seemed in such robust health. Upon his funeral, Michael had immediately been named governor in Charles’ stead.

To all outside their private lives, everything seemed bliss—a strong leader; a beautiful and smart woman; a charming and capable young man who was quickly rising in the Naval Fleet’s ranks to banish piracy once and for all. On the inside, distress, turmoil, and suspicion reigned.

Michael ruled the Novak household with an iron fist, and his methods of making his will known and followed were quite harsh, especially when it came to the servants. As far as his siblings were concerned, his ways were more often than not confined to verbal attacks instead of physical blows. It was unbearable, to say the least, and both Castiel and Anna were desperate to be out from under Michael’s thumb. Castiel knew his sister fared worse; the woman longed to be released from her societal expectations and be free. Unfortunately, neither the world, her health, nor Michael allowed such a desire to come to fruition.

“Have you been aware of my words?”

Michael’s voice was utterly exasperated, and Castiel said sharply, “It your talk has been endless prattle regarding my ascension to Commodore, I can assure you I know quite well the part I must play this day.”

Michael stiffened at once, and Anna spoke hastily to avoid the inevitable fight that was approaching.

“Is the carriage ready, Michael? We would be quite remiss in being the last to arrive.”

Michael’s eyes flicked to hers. “I shall go inquire.”

Within moments, he had departed, and both Anna and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. The latter looked at Anna, who seemed pale and drawn, and said gently, “Are you all right?”

She smiled wanly. “I have no choice except to be just that.”

Castiel wrapped her in an embrace, worriedly noting how warm and dry her skin felt, and whispered into her ear.

“We will find a way to help you, my sweet Anna. I swear it.”

She returned the embrace weakly, wishing she felt as confident as Castiel sounded.

. . .

It appeared the entirety of Port Lawrence had come out for the festivities and pompous circumstances surrounding Castiel’s rise in rank. Anna stood with the crowds as they jostled for position, eager to see and hear all that was taking place. She felt feverish and tired, but was determined not to show it.

The throng quieted as Castiel stepped from the shadows of a nearby portico. He was resplendent in the navy waistcoat, tan breeches, and shining black shoes of the Naval Fleet, and his elegant tricorn hat was perched on his head without a wrinkle. A new sword, a gift from the local blacksmith for the occasion, rested in its leather sheath on his left hip.

Anna found it increasingly difficult to concentrate as the ceremony wore on, her vision blurring dangerously when Michael began to address the crowd. The urge to cough struck her, and delicately, she brought her fan to her mouth.

The familiar thick coating at the base of her throat and tongue made her begin to tremble. Surely this was not happening; not here, not now!

Castiel heard gasps and cries of horror interrupting Michael’s final words, and looked over in time to watch his sister slip to the ground in a heap.


	3. Chapter 3

Winchester lay spent as the wench curled herself around him, her long dark hair falling across his heaving breast. A slim finger traced his face.

At last he spoke, eyes locked onto hers.

“ ‘Tis our last meeting, I fear.”

She smiled, her deep brown gaze boring into him. “Such a falsehood.”

Winchester rose to one elbow, the light of the candles scattered about the room illuminating his lithe, strong form.

“I speak the gods’ truth.”

She sighed, sitting up, and took his hands in her own, white against dark.

“Yes, and last time it was the same, as well as twice before that. Why you cannot admit your affection for me is something I’ll never fathom.”

His broad palm cupped her cheek longingly.

“My sweet Cassandra,” he murmured. “We are not meant to be.”

She leaned into the touch, expression sad. “Can I say nothing to make you stay?”

Winchester hesitated, and the brothel’s owner spoke gently.

“Revenge is a lonely road, my love. What you seek, you may never find—or else finding it, you will not have the satisfaction you so crave.”

The Corsair turned away, reaching for his breeches. “I must search until I do.”

Knowing his mind was steadfast, Cassandra watched him dress. At the last moment, with his tunic still loose on his wide shoulders, he bent to kiss her, a lingering, soft touch of lips that was steeped in regret.

“I will one day return,” he whispered. “And should you be here still, I pray the gods your heart remains mine.”

In moments, he was gone, and Cassandra sighed, rising to wrap herself in a thin robe. She could only hope that the demons haunting Winchester would soon be slain.

. . .

The sounds of drunken brawls, raucous laughter, and the reek of sour whiskey assaulted Samuel’s nostrils as he waited for his brother on the upper level of the Blackham Tavern in Nassau, where they had docked a week prior. He had a fair idea of what was taking his sibling so long to appear.

Eventually, Samuel spotted the familiar shape of his brother's hat, and descended the stairs to join him at an empty table, far enough away from the melee that they could hear each other, but close enough to see the door.

Winchester was the first to speak, after two pints had been set before them.

“What news?”

Samuel noticed the look on the other man’s face, and peered at him.

“You have been with her.”

Green eyes met hazel, and Samuel was surprised to witness the depths of turmoil within the Corsair’s eyes.

“Aye, for the last time. Now what news?”

Knowing better than to push the issue, Samuel replied, “Little. Yet there was one in his cups who boasted of knowing personally the captain of the  _ Hellion _ .”

Winchester stopped with his portion of amber liquid halfway to his lips. “Go on,” he demanded quietly.

Samuel scoffed. “ ‘Twas a lesson to understand what he meant to say. The nearest to it is that his moniker is Rufus Turner, and in some forsaken way, he knew of our parents.”

Winchester set the pint upon the rickety table with a loud thump, his gaze dangerously clear and cold.

“Did he, now? And where might I find this blithering drunkard?”

Samuel startled backwards as the cold steel of a blade was abruptly cutting into his brother’s neck.

“ ‘Blithering drunkard’, eh?” a tall, dark fellow rumbled as he stood at their sides, throwing Samuel a spiteful look.

“Old and enjoying my last luxury I may be, but a liar I’m not, boy.”

Winchester appeared calm, but under the table, Samuel could see his fingers close around the barrel of his pistol. The Corsair was a crack shot.

“Tell me,” Winchester said softly, “how you claim to know both the ship of Fergus MacLeod and the sires of Samuel and Dean Winchester? ‘Twould appear you are indeed a drunken fool.”

“I tell you upon the spirit of the sea herself, I knew them all,” the man growled.

Immediately Winchester leapt to his feet, scattering the table and the crowds by them as he aimed his pistol between the other man’s eyes at point-blank range. Samuel watched from his casual position against the wall, saying not a word.

“Do not sully their memories,” Winchester hissed. “ ‘Twould be a pity to coat these floors with your blood.”

The pirate remained unmoved, black eyes staring unflinchingly at the other man.

“Slay me, Winchester, and you’ll never ascertain the truth.”

Gasps were heard as the crowd realized just who it was among them, and Winchester pulled back on the pistol’s safety, teeth bared.

“What is this truth, then?”

The next words sent Winchester’s blood to thrumming in his ears.

“Don’t be daft, boy. We’re all sea scoundrels here, and t’were it not for the elder Corsair Winchester, your father, not one of us in this tavern would be here today. Our lives he saved throughout the years, in one form or another.”

Winchester’s pistol clattered to his feet. Voice strained, he said, “My father was an honest sailor.”

“Sailor, aye, if that’s what you prefer to call it. Honest? Nay; never.”

Samuel spoke, voice soft. “And what of our mother? Fergus?”

The pirate crossed himself. “That Mary Winchester was an angel from heaven sent to brighten the lives of sinful men. MacLeod raised your daddy in the life after he was orphaned by thieves.”

Winchester was shaking minutely. “How did they perish?”

The other man's expression turned both sad and disgusted.

“Not by our hands. No; every one of us would gladly have taken their places.”

“Then how?” Winchester gritted, and earned himself a sigh.

“The Crown, boy—Port Lawrence’s Naval Fleet, headed by one Michael Novak.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I demand answers to her condition! Step aside!”

Michael's furious ranting did nothing to frighten the doctor, a shrewd gentleman with horn-rimmed glasses and a reputation for being the best physician Port Lawrence had to offer. He stared at the raving other man.

“Ms. Novak is not in a position to entertain visitors of any sort.” Pointedly, he added, “And it would be best if confusion and chaos did not reign outside her door.”

Michael's eyes lit with rage, but before he could speak, Castiel stepped forward.

“Can you offer any hope of ending what ails her?” he asked softly, and the doctor sighed.

“”Your sister is quite a fighter, and I doubt she will allow herself to be bedridden long. However...” He paused, and Castiel's brow furrowed in concern at the same time as Michael spat, “Out with it, man. What is wrong?”

Quietly, the doctor replied, “I have seen only two cases before this, and both were blessedly taken away by the good Lord, with the patients making a full recovery. In Ms. Novak's situation, I would advise heartfelt prayer in order to rid her of the white plague I fear she harbors.”

Castiel felt as though the world had shifted beneath his feet, and he spoke thickly, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears.

“She will recover.” It was not a question.

Michael appeared stunned into silence, and the other man laid hands on their shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

“I shall do my utmost to see that she does. Please excuse my abrupt departure, gentlemen, but I am needed elsewhere.”

The brothers listened as the sounds of his footsteps retreated down the stairs. Neither spoke for some time, until Michael's strained tone cut through the silence.

“No one is to know of this.”

Castiel turned incredulous eyes upon him. “I beg your pardon? Michael, such a disease as this is dangerous. The entire household may become affected if we withhold the truth.”

“I said tell no one, Castiel,” Michael ordered. “The last thing I desire to spark is a panic.”

“You would rather risk innocent lives, then?” Castiel shook his head in disgust. “You are truly a hard man.”

Michael's hands landed squarely on Castiel's shoulders, giving him a rough shake.

“Innocents?” he hissed. “You speak of innocents when our dear sister--” He broke off, eyes glistening.

“Despite your opinions of me, brother, I do own a heart. And I would rather turn it to stone than have it break at a funeral.”

Before Castiel could reply, Michael turned and strode off down the hall.

Castiel released fists he had not realized were clenched. If no answers were to be found in Port Lawrence, well, then, he would search elsewhere.

. . .

Winchester had welcomed the pirate, who was indeed named Rufus, onboard the  _ Mary  _ as crew, and while the other man became acclimated, Samuel followed his brother to the captain's quarters, closing the door quickly at the sight of Winchester's thunderous face.

He did not have time to speak before Winchester let out a furious shout, sweeping his arm across the elegantly paneled teak desk he owned and scattering papers, maps, and an assortment of books to the floor.

Samuel winced.

“ 'Tis everything I have always wanted to find our mother's killer,” Winchester grated, voice low with rage. “To discover that the cowardly pig Novak is responsible...that the Crown--”

He could not finish, eyes gone mad, and Samuel approached carefully, opening the side cabinet to retrieve two glasses and a tall bottle of dark whiskey, pouring some in each. Wordlessly, he handed one tumbler to his brother.

Winchester drained it in one fell swoop, immediately holding out the glass. Samuel poured again, and then once more after, and only then did the fiery rage in Winchester's eyes begin to cool.

“What are your plans?” Samuel asked, and his brother swung his booted feet onto the desk’s top, snorting derisively.

“ ‘Tis it not obvious? I aim to turn this ship toward Port Lawrence, rid the world of Novak, and avenge our beloved parents.”

Samuel spoke gently. “’Tis a noble thought. Yet the entirety of the Naval Fleet will bring us down before we reach the shore. We are but one vessel.”

Winchester glared at his brother, but he knew that he was right. “What do you propose, then?”

Samuel lifted his hands helplessly, and suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door.

“What is it?” Winchester bellowed, and Rufus stepped into the room. The Corsair’s eyes narrowed.

“Have you been listening all this time?”

“Aye,” the man replied carelessly, “and I know the solution to the problem at hand.”

“Oh, aye? And what may that be, pray tell?”

Without waiting for an invitation, Rufus stepped into the room and kicked the door shut with one foot. Samuel looked at Winchester, who simply raised an eyebrow, waiting for Rufus to continue.

“Everyone in these waters knows of Novak’s sibling, Castiel. The scoundrel ascended to Commodore this very morning, and word has it that his sister is quite sick.” Rufus folded his arms. “Love of family drives a man to do things he wouldn’t normally dream of.”

Winchester frowned in irritation. “Make your point.”

“If land cannot give him what he wants, he’ll take to the sea. ‘Tis not hard to decipher his next move.”

The Corsair’s eyes flicked to Samuel briefly, then back to his crew member. “The younger Novak will set sail into uncharted waters.”

“Aye,” Rufus said, with a terrifying smile. “Waters you know well, boy.”

Winchester stood, his palms flat on the desk. His eyes were dark, and he did not look at Samuel as he spoke. There was no need.

“Turn us to the west, brother. The littlest Novak will soon wish he had stayed his course on solid ground.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Castiel stared at the fifteen men who were loyal to his cause. There was no moon in the velvet night sky, only sporadic clusters of stars, and for that, the Commodore gave thanks. It would make what he had to do much easier.

“You are not obligated to follow me,” the younger Novak said, voice soft. “The penalty for desertion is steep, and I would not have justice paid for me by friends.”

For a moment, no one spoke, and Castiel feared he would indeed travel alone. But then, a young officer stepped forward, his eyes sincere even as his stiff posture betrayed his unease. The Commodore knew him only by name and age; the boy was not yet twenty.

“We will follow you wherever it may lead, Commodore. You will not suffer such a harsh fate having been forsaken and friendless.”

Castiel sighed at the words, reaching out to grasp the young man’s shoulder.

“You are a brave soul, Alfie. I swear to you that I shall guard you with my sword and my life.” He looked at the small group. “All of you.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord Commodore,” another, older officer said softly, “but we have undertaken this journey of our own free will. Our lives were forfeit the moment we set foot on this ship. While your fealty is a thing of great price, do not believe that you are the only one who bears such a burden. We give our service to you wholeheartedly, whatever may befall.”

A murmur of assent ran through the group, and Castiel swallowed, his throat tight with emotion. Yet he did not show it, instead saying quietly, “You know what you must do.”

. . .

When the shores of Port Lawrence could no longer be seen, Castiel walked to the helm of his brother’s ship. The  _ Pride of Heaven  _ was large enough to be seen for miles, but the Commodore had ordered that the flag of the Naval Fleet be taken down. It would do no good to invite trouble.

Gazing across the dark waters, with the waves against the sides of the ship the only sound for miles upon end, Castiel prayed as he had not for many years—for safe passage; for good health; and above all, for Anna. He had not been able to say goodbye, for doing so would have alerted others to his plans, and that he could not allow. He could only ask that upon his return, she would be there to greet him.

“Commodore?”

Castiel turned. Alfie stood tall beside him, hands clasped behind his back. The other man said gently, “At ease.”

Cautiously, Alfie relaxed. Castiel’s words were soft.

“You cannot rest? The hour is late.”

Alfie looked down at the deck. “I did try…but I am frightened.”

Castiel’s heart went out to the boy. He had no father to show him the good paths to take in life, and his mother was sickly. What would have been a younger brother had been stillborn.

The Commodore tipped Alfie’s chin up, gaze gentle. “What do you fear?” He had a fair idea of what bothered the lad, but wished to hear it from his own mouth.

“I do not fear pirates,” Alfie replied sharply, and then, quietly, “I am afraid of what they bring.”

“You fear death.”

Alfie hesitated, then replied, “Yes, sir.”

Castiel carefully pulled his sword from its sheath, noticing how Alfie watched the movement with wary eyes. The Commodore held it in front of him.

“Do you have a notion of how to wield one of these?”

Alfie’s hand drifted to his own scabbard. “I…I suppose I have no choice.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Alfie’s gaze was focused on the deck once again. “I should know,” he mumbled, “yet I do not. I am not fit to be in your service, or the service of the Crown.”

Castiel very lightly touched the point of his sword to Alfie’s chest.

“Hear me, young man,” he said firmly. “A man need not be unafraid or experienced to do that which is right.” In a gentler tone, he added, “I have often found that fear and lack of wisdom serve one far better.”

The boy stumbled back as Castiel easily flipped the sword around, replacing it at his side. His eyes were wide, and the Commodore spoke.

“When the sun rises, I expect to see you here, Alfie.” A small, affectionate smile curved the Commodore's lips upward. “From this moment forth, you have become a man I wholeheartedly welcome aboard my ship.”

A grin split Alfie's mouth from ear to ear. “Yes, Commodore,” he said, almost eagerly.

“I suppose I should sleep, then. Morning comes quickly.”

Castiel felt his smile begin to slip. Brusquely, he said, “Indeed it does. You may go.”

Watching the boy make his way back to his bunk, the Commodore felt a bitter heaviness encompass him, and he added another prayer—that the child would live to see more than just one sunrise.

. . .

The heat of the day had already begun to creep underneath Castiel's collar by the time the other officers had risen and begun to go about their daily tasks. As he had assured Alfie, the Commodore had spent the first few hours of the day instructing the boy in the art of swordplay. He was a quick learner, and Castiel had no doubt that when it came time—for he knew the waters they traveled in were far from tranquil—he would be able to hold his own.

“Commodore.”

Castiel turned from his place at the bow's rail, attempting to set aside thoughts of disaster, and met the gaze of Balthazar, a dear friend, competent officer, and surest ally. “How goes it?”

Castiel knew at once that something was quite wrong. The other man's gray eyes were filled with apprehension, though his voice was steady.

“It appears a ship is approximately a league behind us. She's gaining steadily.”

Castiel did not take his own gaze from Balthazar's face when he spoke, his voice quiet.

“What colors does she fly?”

Balthazar hesitated, and Castiel's eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question, man.”

Just as quietly, the man replied, “Blood-soaked, Commodore.”

Castiel closed his eyes. A pirate flag was hardly a welcome sight, but for it to be red meant one thing, and one thing only: should the  _ Pride  _ be caught, none would survive.

“What is your decision?” Balthazar murmured, and Castiel drew a breath.

“Prepare to engage.”


	6. Chapter 6

Winchester's expression was keen and calculating as he steered the  _ Bloody Mary  _ closer across the expanse of sea toward his goal. The guns had been loaded, the flag hoisted, and the men were eager for blood. All was ready when the signal was to be given.

Samuel, as always, stood by his brother's side, watching as the ship before them grew larger. His eyes were hard, the promise of revenge at last erasing all semblance of kindness that might have once resided there.

The Corsair swung the  _ Mary  _ sharply to the east, lining up perfectly with her intended target. The clamor on the deck behind them grew louder as the crew sensed impending victory.

. . .

“Commodore!”

Castiel spun to face the owner of the voice, and his heart sank when he saw it was Alfie. He had hoped the boy would not have to face such a damning end.

“Everything is at the ready,” Alfie relayed, his voice steady. If he was afraid, he did not show it.

“Good.” Quickly, Castiel strode down the deck to stand with his men, raising his voice.

“Our numbers may be few, but let us perform what it is that we have been trained to do!”

A rousing cry left the men, and Castiel drew his sword, hoisting it aloft.

“There may come a day when all that is good is destroyed, but as long as the seas are traveled by the Naval Fleet, today is not that day! I charge you, men—stand and fight!”

. . .

The Corsair's eyes lit with a dark glee as the  _ Mary  _ came alongside the Naval ship, a commanding shout leaving his lips.

“Lower the guns!”

With the sound of damnation following close behind, the cannons were revealed to point directly at the  _ Pride' _ s vulnerable side. Winchester called out once more, stepping away from the helm.

“Drop anchor! Prepare to board!”

The crew yelled, whooping oaths and curses as the pale faces of the Naval men came into view across from them. Winchester noted with satisfaction that there were far less than even he had anticipated. The fight would be quick...though he hardly planned to make it painless.

. . .

Castiel took one last look at the grim, determined faces of his men before the pirates' first round of gunfire erupted into the side of the  _ Pride _ , shattering wood and sending four of his officers into the air with agonized screams. He steadied himself on the rocking ship, sending up a silent prayer for their souls, and then could do nothing but begin to struggle for his very life.

. . .

“Rout them!” Winchester hollered, and easily leapt across the lowered gangplank onto the ship, immediately cutting down two Naval officers who attempted to block his way. “Send them to Davy Jones' Locker! Away with the scum!”

It was obvious that the beleaguered Naval crew could not hold their own against so many, try as they might. Before the Corsair could bring down another officer, a boy who could not have been more than eighteen stepped in his path, sword at the ready. Easily, Winchester knocked it aside.

“Out of my way, lad, or I'll fillet you like a fish.”

He was not prepared for the warlike cry that came from his left, and suddenly a body was on top of his own, grappling for his sword.

“Run, Alfie! Run!” the Corsair heard.

With a swift kick to the other man's gut, Winchester was able to rise to one knee, watching in fury as his would-be assailant caught his breath.

“ 'Tis the last light of day you will ever see,” he growled, and raised his sword.

His strike was met immediately, and the Corsair stared into a pair of blue eyes, clear as a summer's sky, and yet cold as a winter's night at sea.

“And I fear that you shall not return to your crew,” was the harsh reply.

Winchester was taken aback, but simply smirked. “By the gods, you're quite pretty.”

A snarl left the other man's lips, and once again, they met thrust for thrust. Winchester watched with interest as the man's footwork mirrored his own with every move. “ 'Tis a pity I have to kill you,” he chuckled. “Such a worthy opponent.”

A sudden sharp sting upon his right cheek made Winchester bring a hand to his face. Bright blood covered his fingertips, and he hissed.

The answering smile he received was grim. “That will scar.”

With a furious roar, the Corsair attacked again, the sound of steel meeting steel ringing out into the melee. At last, with a well-placed feint, Winchester sent the other man's blade skittering to the deck, and plunged the tip of his sword into the Naval officer's ribs.

With a howl of pain, the other man fell to his knees, and the Corsair pulled his sword back for the killing blow.

. . .

Castiel did not flinch. He had known his end would come in this way, and prayed for forgiveness.

But the pirate stayed his hand, simply staring at him.

“Well, get on with it,” Castiel snapped. “Or are you a coward?”

A smile Castiel did not care for crossed the pirate's lips. “Nay. I've found a better use for you.”

To Castiel's horror, Alfie suddenly rose up behind his Commodore's captor, sword aloft. Casually, the pirate turned.

Castiel saw the dagger too late, and let out a cry of grief as Alfie crumpled to the deck, throat slit wide.

Winchester looked at his body, then back to Castiel. “He meant something to you, then?”

With a scream, Castiel dove for the pirate, who simply sent the toe of his boot into Castiel's wound with a disgusted sound. White spots dancing before his vision as he fought for air, Castiel curled over, willing himself to stay alert. Above his agony, he heard the pirate's roar of triumph.

“Victory is ours!”

Cheers went up from the dastardly crew, and Castiel closed his eyes to the sounds of his loyal men being slaughtered upon the already bloodstained decks. Tears choked him. This was his fault, every bit of it.

. . .

“And this one?” Rufus asked, watching the Commodore with a sharp eye as he was dragged to his feet, barely able to stand on his own.

“This one is mine,” the Corsair replied, cruelly kicking Alfie's body out of his way. He didn't miss the look of hatred the other man gave him, and chuckled. “A fine prize, indeed. He'll learn our ways soon enough.”

Surprised, Rufus looked at Winchester.

“You mean to keep him alive?”

“Aye,” Winchester said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “ 'Tis not a problem, I hope.” The tone of his voice left no uncertainty that even if it was, the Corsair cared not.

Rufus' words were blunt enough that Castiel found himself flushing when he heard them.

“If you choose to make him your bed slave, nay, 'tis no affair of mine.” In a lower voice, he added, “Remember the code we carry, Winchester: none remain. 'Tis best not to inform the crew of your choice.”

The Corsair's gaze was chilled. “And you'd do well to remember who is Captain. 'Tis best not to test me.”

Rufus inclined his head in agreement, though his eyes said different.

Castiel jerked back as the other man skimmed a finger underneath his jaw. “Do not touch me,” he spat.

He received only laughter in return, and the pirate's deep green eyes assessed him with a gaze that made Castiel's blood run cold, even as his words made his face heat once more.

“Before the moon rises, I'll be certain to do more than touch you...Commodore,” he added, noting the insignia on Castiel's waistcoat.

Castiel reared back his head and spat in the pirate's face. In the next moment, he was left both furious and searching for breath as the Corsair planted a smoldering kiss upon his lips, to the catcalls and whistles of the pirate's men.

“Bring him aboard,” Winchester chuckled as he wiped his cheek, the desire in his eyes clear. “This pretty bluejacket will not soon fly back to port.”


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel stared around himself as he was pushed and maneuvered around the  _ Bloody Mary _ , careful to make note of the surroundings should he be able to escape and relay his imprisonment. The Commodore had to admit that it was, indeed, an impressive vessel, larger even than the  _ Pride  _ had been and equipped with many guns. Guiltily, Castiel recalled the moment that it had been destroyed completely, her remains blown apart as she slowly sank to the bottom of the sea along with her dead. That, coupled with the loss of many of his officers, was something Castiel knew Michael would neither forgive nor forget.

He was suddenly jerked to a stop, and Castiel looked up to see a young pirate staring down at him. His features, while distinctly his own, were near enough to the Corsair's that he could surmise they were somehow related.

“This is the Naval riffraff,” one of the men directing Castiel said, and shoved him forward. “Your brother wants him in his sheets.”

The group chuckled, and Castiel's jaw clenched. He would never be a slave to the heinous desires of a brigand.

It had suddenly gone quiet, and it was then Castiel realized he had spoken the words out loud. A pair of inquisitive hazel eyes landed on him.

“You have mettle, sailor.”

Castiel growled, “My title is Commodore.”

A sharp elbow in his side nearly sent Castiel to his knees once more, but he managed to stand, staring defiantly at the other man.

His head tilted. “You're injured.”

“I will survive,” Castiel gritted. “I have thus far.”

“Nonsense.” Now, the pirate's tone was commanding as he addressed the group. “Release him. I am certain the Corsair does not desire a frail bedmate.”

Without an argument, they did as they were told. Castiel stumbled forward as a wave of lightheadedness overcame him, the pain he felt increasing.

A hand reached out and grasped his wrist, pulling him upright. Castiel could not help the gasp that escaped his lips at the pressure it put on his wound, and the pirate spoke softly, the words meant only for his ears. “You cannot forsake the treatment of such a gash, Commodore. Come with me.”

Reluctantly, Castiel gave a nod. Raising his voice to address the others, the pirate said sharply, “Why do you linger? Get to your tasks.”

Quickly, the men disbursed, and Castiel allowed himself a small groan, the sky and sea threatening to become reversed in his line of vision. Sweating and nauseous, he allowed himself to be led through a maze of corridors until they came to an elegantly carved wooden door, which the pirate opened without knocking.

“Wait here,” he instructed, and then turned and departed without a word.

Castiel looked around. It appeared he was in the captain's quarters, if the elegantly carved desk, hand-drawn maps, expensive furnishings, and large canopied bed with red silken sheets was anything to go on.

_ Captain's quarters. _

The Commodore shook his head wildly, though the movement nearly caused him to faint. No; he would not stay in the room of the man who had slain his closest friends, destroyed his ship, and speared him like a fish!

“And where else would you go, pray tell?”

The familiar voice made Castiel stiffen as once again, he realized he had voiced his thoughts aloud. His tone was filled with loathing as he turned to face Corsair Winchester.

“I would rather die than be cared for by the likes of you.”

“I see.” Winchester shut the door, crossing the thick skins scattered upon the rough floorboards to lean against the desk. “Do you plan to leave your sister alone, then?”

Castiel gaped at the Corsair, pain momentarily forgotten. “How could you possibly-”

“Let us say that I have my knowledge, Commodore.” At Castiel's glare, he added, “You will either have that wound cleaned and dressed, or die from infection. I leave the choice up to you.”

Castiel stared at the pirate captain, indecision warring in his gaze, and Winchester moved to open one of the desk drawers, retrieving a bottle of rum, needle, and thread. He placed each item on the smooth surface, then stepped away, his eyes locked onto Castiel's.

“As I said, Commodore, it is your choice: be treated, or perish.”

. . .

Winchester watched the other man's face carefully. It was obvious that he was in anguish, but his pride refused to allow him to accept the help he so desperately required. The captain sighed to himself. He had not enjoyed running his sword into the Commodore as though the man was an animal to be slaughtered, nor had he wanted to enact ruin upon his men and ship, but the price he was willing to pay to witness Michael Novak's dying breath was high.

There was also the matter of saving face. He could not simply turn away from the life he had created for himself and his brother; they would end up as no more than fish bait should he attempt to abandon the  _ Mary  _ and his men. They were owed more than that.

Mary and John were owed more than that.

It was obvious the Commodore was unaware of Winchester's internal struggle, as he seemed to be having one of his own. His blue gaze flicked from the Corsair to the bed, and Winchester remembered his threat.

“ _ This pretty bluejacket will not soon fly back to port...before the moon rises, I'll be certain to do more than touch you.” _

The Corsair spoke quietly. “I give you my word that I will not harm you, Commodore.”

The Naval officer snorted.

“You are a pirate, Corsair. Your word is worth nothing.”

Winchester supposed he had earned that caustic remark, and yet it still caused him to grit his teeth. “The more you open your mouth, Commodore, the more I am inclined to toss you to the sharks.”

Castiel straightened as much as his wound would allow, his eyes lighting with a furious fire Winchester had never before witnessed on anyone he had come across in all his many years of traveling the seas.

“Then do so, if you possess the gall. Or is it that you are a caitiff, as I at first surmised?”

The Corsair spat his words. “And what would it benefit your sister if she were to lose you?”

Castiel's fists curled. “Do  _ not _ presume to speak of--”

“You came in search of a miracle, did you not?” Winchester asked curtly. “Do you still desire it?”

The Commodore's eyes narrowed. “What can a scoundrel such as yourself possibly know of what ails her?”

Winchester's chin lifted, and he regarded Castiel coolly. “Assuming you do not die first, I will tell you.”

The words reminded the Commodore that he still suffered from his wound, and as if on cue, the pain, pushed aside while arguing, returned tenfold. Though it shamed him to appear so weak in his enemy's eyes, he spoke words he hoped he would not come to regret.

“Help me, then, if you can.”

  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Michael slammed his fist down upon the desk in his study, causing the servant to flinch visibly. The elder Novak's eyes were furious, but his voice remained deceptively calm.

“Tell me the tale again. And this time, for your sake, I hope it has a different outcome.”

Swallowing hard, the young man spoke nervously.

“Your brother has taken the  _ Pride of Heaven,  _ sir, along with half of your officers. It appears they left under cover of darkness, sometime within the last three days.” He hesitated. “It is widely speculated that the ship was attacked by pirates, and all are dead.”

“Oh?” Michael's voice was dangerously soft. “Speculated by whom?”

The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other unconsciously. “It is not hard to miss such a ship as the  _ Pride _ , sir—nor such a large group of men led by the Commodore.”

Michael gazed at the servant long enough for the lad to begin trembling visibly. At last he said, “I see. You may go.”

A derisive snort curved Michael's lips upward as the servant nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get out, and he stared at the pile of maps and charts spread before him with a baleful eye. So his brother had chosen a deserter's route, and was now quite possibly resting in the depths of the ocean? Michael had to admit that he was not surprised; his sibling had always had an iron, stubborn will. The issue at hand was how to break the news to their sister.

Michael steepled his hands underneath his chin. Perhaps he needn't do such a thing. After all, Anna was terribly ill, and the doctor had been quite firm about minimizing any excitement or distress.

Castiel had reportedly engaged in a battle with pirates. Michael mulled over the thought as his eyes traced the path the  _ Pride  _ was rumored to have taken, and a sudden thought hit him.

How simple to say that the younger man had chosen to forsake his duty as Commodore for a life of lawlessness upon the sea. Upon reflection, Castiel had always seemed reluctant to kill, whatever the urgency of the situation. No doubt that even now, he was attempting to reason with whatever band of scoundrels had blown apart the  _ Pride  _ and taken him hostage. And yet...

A smile crossed Michael's lips, and he murmured, “How simple, indeed.”

. . .

Winchester sighed in irritation as he sat upon the bed. “I cannot tend the wound if you keep your tunic on, Commodore, and refuse to come nearer to me.”

Castiel perched precariously on the edge of the coverlet, eyeing the Corsair dubiously as he carefully removed said tunic. His words were cool.

“Do not believe, simply because you intend to save me from the grave, that I will not have you in chains eventually.”

Winchester rolled his eyes. “Think of me what you will, Commodore. The fact remains that you need me—at least for now.”

Castiel nearly bit through his tongue when the first splash of rum hit his open skin, but he would be damned to Hell for eternity before allowing the Corsair to hear him cry out. He remained silent while the wound was stitched and dressed, and as the last thread was cut, Winchester remarked, “You have quite a strong disposition. Most men would have either spit and cursed, or sunk into unconsciousness from the pain.”

Castiel leveled the Corsair with a disgusted look. “I am not most men.”

Winchester hummed. “It would appear not.” Rising, he replaced the rum in his drawer. “What manner of man are you, then, Commodore?”

Surprisingly, the question gave Castiel serious pause. For much of his life—nay, nearly all of it—he had been sure of the course he wished to take. With the death of his crewmates, the destruction of the  _ Pride _ , and his capture by the notorious pirate, that certainty had suddenly grown dim, obscured by a veil of turmoil and chagrin.

Winchester was watching him silently, and at last Castiel admitted, “One that has lost his way.”

The Corsair did not seem to marvel at the reply.

“Have the gods truly been forced to use such events as these in order for your eyes to be opened?”

After a long silence, Castiel spoke quietly. “So it appears.”

Winchester gazed at him for some moments, until at last Castiel grew restless under the scrutiny. Sharply, he spoke.

“You have a way of creating great unease in your subjects. Must you stare so?”

The Corsair did not hesitate in his reply. “There is much about your form that renders such an act a necessity, Commodore.”

Castiel’s shoulders drew together, and he appeared greatly affronted. Winchester chuckled.

“Come now, Commodore, let’s not be shy. A man can tell your true desires from leagues away.”

The Commodore’s heart stuttered in his chest. It was his wish that no one knew of his sexual proclivities, least of all his brother, and he had kept it that way for years on end. To discover that perhaps they were not as hidden as he had at first believed was quite worrisome—and could prove to bring down everything that he had sought to achieve.

“That matter,” he said tightly, “is none of your concern.”

“Indeed?” The Corsair raised an eyebrow. “So I am to assume the kiss I bestowed upon you had no effect?”

Furiously, Castiel stood, ignoring the way his stitches pulled, and spat, “You label that a kiss?”

He’d meant it as a jab, but soon realized, from the way Winchester’s eyes filled with passion, that he had crossed a delicate line.

“I’d watch your tongue, Commodore,” the Corsair said quietly, “or I’m likely to show you the proper way to exhibit one’s desire for another.”

“I will never allow your hands to lay upon on this body,” Castiel said with contempt, but the way the pirate captain’s voice had dropped at least three octaves sent an unexpected, hot thrill throughout him. The feeling both aroused and flustered the Commodore.

“I wouldn’t be so disagreeable.” Winchester’s tone was now dark. “If ‘tis not I that beds you, it will be the crew.”

Horrified, Castiel stepped back. “You would not dare to do such a heinous thing.”

The Corsair’s emerald eyes were now as cold as ice, and as he advanced on Castiel, the other man continued to retreat until his back hit the cabin wall. There, he braced himself as Winchester leaned in.

“I run this ship, Commodore, and my men have discovered ‘tis best to follow my orders. You are no longer on land, and the law of the sea rules here. I suggest that you begin to understand the meaning of submission—before it is taught to you.”

Before Castiel could form a reply, the Corsair had turned on his heel and departed.

. . .

Samuel sent the Corsair a face that looked able to kill their enemies as Winchester returned to the deck, his hazel eyes narrowed in irritation.

“I assume that threat was necessary,” he said, without preamble.

His brother returned the look, continuing to the helm. “ ‘Twas indeed. The Commodore will learn.”

“At what cost?” Samuel inquired, following Winchester’s steps. “Do you truly intend to make good on such intimidation?”

The Corsair turned, his eyes as dark as the clouds that gathered overhead. Both signaled an oncoming storm.

“What would you have me do?” he barked. “ ‘Tis our only option to keep him as prisoner.”

“And what if his brother refuses the ransom?” Samuel pressed. “What then? Do you plan to send him to Davy Jones’ Locker? Surely he deserves more than such a fate.”

“Oh, aye?” the Corsair gritted. “Our parents deserved more than such a fate, yet ‘twas not to be. Why should his life remain?”

Samuel stared at him so long that Winchester began to twitch. “What is it?” he snapped.

“Do you not wish to spare him for your own ends?”

“Speak plainly. I have no patience for riddles.”

“Do not forget the threat you imposed upon your first meeting,” Samuel continued, folding his arms, “nor the newest hazard you have spoken. Perhaps, though I abhor the method, the result can be to our advantage.”

Winchester tilted his head. “You mean to turn him to our side, and therefore destroy the Novak name.”

“By your leave, aye.”

The Corsair turned back to the gently rolling seas, which he knew would soon turn into a raging froth. There was a change in the wind, a sign of an oncoming tempest, and he knew it would affect all fronts soon enough.

“Aye,” was all he said.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel jerked awake in the chair he had been occupying as a flash of lightning illuminated the Corsair’s cabin, followed by a low, continuous rumble of thunder. Through the open porthole, he could feel the cool wind as it gusted slightly. A storm was coming on, and quickly.

Rising, the Commodore steadied himself as the ship rocked urgently beneath his feet. Drops of wet spray doused his face while another peal of thunder was heard, this time louder and much closer, and he forced the porthole closed against the rising wind. The harried sounds of the crew on deck reached his ears, and Castiel suddenly realized that they were in grave danger as he nearly fell with the next rolling wave.

The cabin door flew open, and Winchester stood silhouetted in the entrance, his tunic and breeches soaked with sea foam.

“Commodore!” he barked. “ ‘Tis a mighty tempest we’re under! All hands, now!”

Castiel did not think to question the Corsair or himself, instead following the pirate as he raced back to the upper decks. Immediately, he grabbed hold of the rigging as the sea belched water over the bow, sending men sliding across the wet boards.

Lightning split the heavens, and they opened in a torrent. Castiel blinked furiously in a vain attempt to clear the rain from his eyes, his hand burning where it was clenched around the ropes.

The Corsair stood tall at the helm, his knuckles white as he fought to keep the  _ Bloody Mary  _ from capsizing. His eyes were fierce, and the Commodore’s breath caught in his throat at the raw beauty of it.

“Secure the cargo!” he bellowed to his beleaguered men. “Keep all but what we cannot afford!”

The men scrambled to obey, and soon barrels were being heaved over the sides. The offering did nothing to appease the ocean, however, who continued her assault upon the ship.

A sizzling crack was heard along with the shouts of the men, and Castiel looked up in time to see the top part of the mast ablaze with fire, which swiftly traveled down the sails to snake towards the stern.

“It must not reach the hold!” Winchester howled, with a brazen oath.

Castiel was no fool. The hold of most ships carried the stashes of gunpowder used to man the guns, and should the fire meet the black soot, it would be the end of them all.

Without a second’s thought, the Commodore had let go of the rigging and skidded down the deck, disappearing in the melee.

. . .

The Corsair wrenched the helm once more, his arms aching from the strain of keeping the  _ Mary  _ from turning belly-up and destroying all aboard. The fool Novak had taken it upon himself to be their savior, and it might have well cost him his life.

The shouts and cries of his men echoed in Winchester’s ears, and he gritted his teeth, not noticing that his palms were bloody. He would be damned if all perished on his account!

A sudden deafening boom sent Winchester to his knees, rocking the whole of the vessel. His men hung on for dear life as the  _ Mary  _ bounced and twisted in the waves, and when the Corsair had steadied himself enough to stand, a hole was present in the side of his ship—damage that was serious, to be sure, but from one glance Winchester could tell it would not sink them. Miraculously, the seas were settling, and the wind had subsided.

“What the devil was that?” he bayed, and Rufus’ rattled, yet grateful, expression could be seen below him.

“The powder, Captain! We’ve lost part of the ship, but not our lives!”

As a rousing cheer went up from the crew, Winchester’s throat tightened unexpectedly. Fool that he was, the Commodore had sacrificed himself for every man aboard. His death had been quick, given the situation…or so Winchester prayed.

The Corsair had never cared for the blood of others that stained his hands, but the infuriating Commodore had roused something in him that he had never known. Perhaps, if there had been more time to acquaint himself with the man, and their lives had been different—but it was too late now.

Once more, Fate had ruined him.

…

“Michael?”

Anna's voice was weak, but it roused the eldest Novak from his thoughts beside her bed nonetheless. He leaned over her, expression the very picture of concern and care.

“Yes, dearest?”

“Where is Castiel? I have not seen him for many days.”

Michael schooled his countenance into one that would not betray his true feelings on the matter, allowing a troubled sigh to escape his lips.

“I fear that it is news you need not hear.”

Anna paled even further than the illness had already made her, her eyes frightened. “Tell me what has happened,” she demanded, but Michael shook his head.

“I cannot risk your relapse on my account, darling. You require rest and calm.”

“To hell with my condition!” the young woman spat, surprising them both. “I want the truth!”

Delicately, Michael held a kerchief to her mouth as the exclamation brought on a fierce bout of coughing. When she lay back, a blotch of red could be seen staining the pristine cloth, and her lip trembled.

“Please, brother,” she begged, and Michael relented.

“It appears that Castiel has taken up with pirates, and as such is now an enemy to the Crown,” he relayed regretfully, and Anna moaned in dismay.

“No,” she whispered. “I refuse to believe that he would do such a thing.”

“Unfortunately, the evidence against him is astounding, my love,” Michael continued, brushing a stray lock of damp curls from her forehead. “He gathered a crew in the dead of night and stole the  _ Pride of Heaven _ , making off for I know not where. It appears the ship was beset by the scoundrels, and rather than lose his life, our dear brother handed himself over to them to become one of their own.”

Anna was inconsolable. Tears streamed down her fair face as she gazed at Michael.

“We must find him,” she sobbed. “He must be shown the error of his ways and returned to us.”

Michael looked at her grimly.

“He will be shown thus, my sweet sister, but I doubt that he will return in anything but a coffin. The Crown does not look favorably on turncoats and pirates, let alone a man who is both.”

Anna's face crumpled, and she turned away from him, a clear signal that he should go. Quietly, Michael left the room, and it was only after he had closed her door that he breathed a sigh of relief.

He did indeed love his sibling, but constantly having to play two roles was exhausting. Striding down the hall to his study, he turned the ornately carved handle to find someone he did not expect, and raised an eyebrow.

“I see that you've wasted no time in answering my summons.”

The visitor in the center of the room met Michael’s eyes with ones that were nearly black. The response was swift, laced with an Irish brogue.

“I answer to no one but myself. However, your predicament’s quite intriguing.”

Michael snorted, walking over to the liquor cabinet and retrieving two glasses and a diamond-cut decanter, from which he poured the finest brandy he owned.

“Intriguing is hardly the word I would have used.”

The other man took the offered drink and finished it in one gulp. His expression was unreadable, and Michael’s nerves grew jangled as he was stared at for far longer than he would have liked.

“Well?” he said irritably. “Have you considered my offer?”

“Indeed. And for such a task as you’re describing, I’ll take no less than two thousand pounds.”

The man watched impassively as Michael choked and sputtered, placing the glass upon his desk loudly.

“Are you mad?” he balked. “How dare you presume that I would ever—that is preposterous!”

“I’d say it’s no more ridiculous than the governor of Port Lawrence hiring a bounty hunter under the guise of ending piracy, when in reality all he wants is to rid himself of his brother.”

Michael hurried to the door and shut it firmly, then locked it as an extra measure of security, his eyes baleful.

“You will watch your tongue in my home, Delaney, or you will lose it.”

“Is that so?” The Irishman’s voice had become very soft, and as he turned his head to once again lock gazes with the governor, a horrific scar running across his eye and down the length of his right cheek was revealed in the lamplight. “And you ought to be careful who you threaten.”

For a tense moment, the two did not move or speak, and then Michael let out a frustrated sound.

“Very well. You shall have your two thousand pounds, but you had best not fail in your duty. I want Winchester’s head on a pike, and Castiel in chains.”

“Or having met with an unfortunate…accident,” Delaney added, and Michael’s reply was short.

“You have my blessing on your endeavor. How you fulfill it to the end is up to you.”


	10. Chapter 10

The crew of the  _ Mary  _ had been forced to make haste for the nearest port as soon as the sun had risen, having spent the night doing what they could to minimize the damage to the vessel and keep her afloat until repairs could be conducted.

Red-eyed with exhaustion, impatient, and carrying an uncharacteristic sense of guilt for the demise of the Commodore, Winchester had stormed below decks to his cabin, leaving strict orders that he was not to be disturbed until land was sighted. Once he was firmly ensconced in his private quarters, the Corsair had collapsed onto his bed, staring into nothing as he fought the arms of sleep threatening to embrace him.

At last, his wearied body and mind unable to resist any longer, Winchester slipped into unconsciousness.

…

Castiel hauled himself out of the sea and onto the beach, his lungs still struggling with the fact that they were breathing in air and not seawater. On his hands and knees, he choked and spat, until at last he could draw in one steady breath after another.

Rolling over unceremoniously onto his back, the Commodore stared up at skies heavy with clouds the color of slate, willing the world to cease her revolving.

When he was relatively certain that he would not once again vomit if he tried to, Castiel stood on shaky legs and took inventory of himself.

He was bruised slightly and had suffered a cut to his forearm. His officer's breeches were torn, as was his tunic, and he carried no weapons to defend himself should the need arise, but he was alive—a miracle, indeed, considering his last memory was of the terrible storm that had befallen the  _ Bloody Mary  _ and his subsequent rash decision to attempt to save her and the crew, which had resulted in him—quite literally—being blown away.

The Commodore had come to on the open seas, clinging to a piece of driftwood, and there he had remained for the better part of three days and nights, the cold saltwater soaking him to the bone and aggravating his injuries, minor though they were. He thanked the heavens that he had lived to see this day.

His thoughts turned to the crew—and especially the captain—of the  _ Mary,  _ and Castiel felt an uncommon sense of sadness. Pirates and brutes though the lot had been, no man deserved to die in such a manner as the storm had brought, with no memory to leave behind, or even a proper burial.

Shaking his head slightly—he could not afford to dwell on what had been—Castiel looked ahead. It appeared that he had been blessed enough to be cast ashore near a town, and with a cautiously hopeful heart, the Commodore headed for civilization.

…

A knock at his door had Winchester fumbling for his cutlass, and Samuel barely avoided the point of it when he entered.

“ 'Tis only your brother,” he said carefully, and the Corsair let the weapon drop, his eyes haunted. Samuel ventured quietly, “Has your sleep been disturbed?”

“Not until this moment,” Winchester replied curtly, choosing to ignore the true meaning of his sibling's question. He had always suffered from bad dreams, but there was naught to be done for it except steady himself by his bootstraps and move forward in the waking world. “Is land near?”

“We've docked,” Samuel replied, earning himself a raised brow as he explained, “The crew was adamant about allowing you to rest for as long as was prudent.”

“I see. Where are we, then?”

“Tortuga,” Samuel replied, as he followed the Corsair back above decks. “The gods saw fit to drive us here as payment for our troubles, I suppose.”

“Tortuga?” Winchester turned mid-stride to face his brother, a wicked smile crossing his lips.

“Aye, Tortuga. And by your leave, I sorely desire a drink.”

The Corsair clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. “And you shall have it. It would do the crew good, as well. There is naught else to be done while the  _ Mary _ is repaired,” he continued, gesturing around him to the ship. He then added, “And take the wench with you. I daresay that she should be shown a good time.”

Samuel grinned. “That has never been an issue.”

“By the gods--” Winchester stepped back with an oath, waving his brother off. “My ears are not in need of such information! Away with you both!”

Chuckling to himself, the younger pirate did as he was told.

…

As soon as he set foot into the “town” proper, the Commodore knew that his hopes for a decent meal, gentlemanly manners, and a quiet night's rest were dashed. He also realized, with immediate certainty, that he was among a den of devils.

Pirates were absolutely everywhere, wreaking havoc wherever they set foot, and though he did not consider himself a weak or timid man, Castiel's heart began to race inside his chest. He knew exactly where he was, simply from the sights, sounds, smells, and activities going on about him—Tortuga. There was nothing for a man of the Crown here but death...and quite possibly a painful death, at that.

“Well, what have the gods brought us?”

Castiel turned quickly to find a group of the buccaneers leaning against the side of a rowdy tavern, the one who had spoken staring at him with interest. Instinctively, the Commodore reached for his sword, but cursed himself when the pirates laughed boisterously, their leader smiling from ear to ear.

“You seem lost, boy. 'Twould be a natural thing to allow us the pleasure of introducing you to our friends.”

“I hardly think so,” Castiel said sharply. “I've no inclination to experience shame—or a life-threatening disease.”

Hoots and catcalls came from the others, while the face of the first pirate that had spoken turned bright red with anger, his fists clenching.

“I shall cause you to regret your wagging tongue,” he spat, and lunged for the Commodore.

Trained in hand-to-hand combat as well as in swordplay, Castiel easily dodged, lowering his body into a defensive crouch. The pirate dived for him again, this time going for his midsection. The Commodore straightened at the last moment and swept out his right leg, sending his opponent to his back in the dirt. Before he could rise, Castiel stepped on his throat, exerting just enough pressure to make his meaning clear.

The pirate's eyes were filled with hatred as his fellows roared with laughter, and money bet on the two changed hands.

“You are not safe as long as you remain on this island,” he gritted. “I swear it.”

The Commodore stepped away, though his posture was stiff in expectation of being jumped in retribution. “Perhaps next time, you will choose your words more carefully.”

Castiel left the scene, noting that he had attracted the attention of more of the island's undesirables due to the scuffle. The back of his neck tingled with awareness, ready at any moment for a knife to be sunk into his spine, but no such thing occurred.

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, the Commodore turned a corner, only to hear a very familiar voice.

“It seems that the gods have given up their prize.”

Castiel stopped in his tracks, gazing into none other than the green eyes of Corsair Winchester.

  
  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Winchester could not speak beyond his greeting, finding that he was strangely overcome with a desire to reach out and touch the Commodore, just to see if he was real. Knowing such a move would cost him his dignity and invite the Commodore’s ridicule, however, the Corsair—with difficulty—kept his hands to himself.

The other man seemed just as stunned, his blue eyes locked on the man before him. Numerous emotions swirled in them, until at last they seemed to cool into a look of cautious gratitude. He took a single step forward.

“It is a miracle you have been spared,” he said softly, and Winchester could only give a terse nod in return.

“ ‘Tis my same thought.”

There was silence for some minutes, and then the Commodore spoke again, hesitantly.

“Your crew…?”

“All alive,” the Corsair replied immediately, and added, “ ‘Twas a foolish move on your part, Commodore, but I know when thanks are due.”

“It is not in my nature to let anyone perish, despite my chosen path,” was the quiet reply. “No man deserves such punishment.”

Castiel realized the words he had spoken as soon as the Corsair’s head tilted in surprise.

“Oh, aye? If I recall, you threatened our next meeting would have me in chains for the Crown.”

The Commodore swallowed. His words were barely to be heard.

“I cannot condemn a man to death with the knowledge that I am no better than he.”

The Corsair simply waited for him to continue, and Castiel drew a breath before speaking again.

“My sister is dying. I embarked on this journey to seek help that none seemed to be willing to give, intent on one purpose and determined to let nothing stand in my way.” He paused and looked away, apparently ashamed and grieving in the same moment. “It would seem that I have failed both her and my convictions.”

Winchester crossed his arms lightly. “ ‘Tis not how I view it.”

The Commodore let out a bitter laugh. “No? She shall die before I reach Port Lawrence again. I have nothing to show for my actions except stupidity and a chance meeting with pirates. When I return, I shall be swung off.”

The thought of the beautiful Commodore kicking at the end of a rope made the Corsair’s heart skip a beat in fear. It was something he could not bear to imagine, and he spoke with determination.

“No man who travels with me shall see the gallows, if I have aught to do with it.”

At that, the Commodore’s eyes widened, and Winchester added, “I swore to you that I would aid your search for your sister’s full recovery. Would you take such a man as I at my word?”

Castiel took another step toward the other man, something in him shifting a full one hundred and eighty degrees. His voice was soft as he replied.

“You are a greater man than many I have met. Most would call me mad, yet I feel my trust is not misplaced.”

Winchester gazed at him, and for the first time in his life, felt full remorse. Before he could stop himself, the words flowed from his mouth.

“I must ask your forgiveness,” he said, not missing the way the Commodore’s expression turned to one of shock. “My life has been one of violence and terror, yet I must assure you that piracy is not something I turned to lightly. Nevertheless, the loss of your crew and ship was upon my orders, and such a depraved act must be accounted for.”

Castiel did not know what to say at first. Everything he had read about and heard spoken of regarding the Corsair had led him to believe the pirate deserved to be punished in the worst way possible, even dying like the dog he appeared to be. But now, hearing his words—and seeing the storm of emotions within his eyes—the other man was convinced that the supposed demon before him did, in fact, own a heart, and it was far from evil.

The Commodore reached out and closed his fingers over the pirate’s forearm.

“Far be it from me to refuse to extend grace when it is asked for,” he replied gently, and received a rough grasp around his wrist in return. The Corsair did not speak, but it was clear the words had moved him.

Castiel’s breath hitched at the feel of calloused fingers on his skin, and he found that he could not keep from staring into the other man’s eyes. There must have been something in them that he was unaware of, for the Corsair’s emerald eyes dilated. Before the Commodore could question it further, the pirate had broken the touch and stepped back.

“ ‘Tis settled, then,” he said brusquely. “My vessel is undergoing repairs as we speak. She shall soon be seaworthy, and I fully expect your presence on board her when she sails—as crew, not as prisoner. And gods willing, you shall return to your sister victorious with a cure.”

For the first time in many weeks, Castiel felt his spirits lift in hope.

…

“You have a visitor, sir.”

Michael looked up from his desk. “Who might that be? I haven't called for anyone.”

The older servant bowed slightly at the waist. “He refused to give his name, sir. He said it was of the utmost importance that he speak with you.”

“Oh, he did?” Michael said in boredom. “What does he want?”

“I was not allowed to learn much, sir, except that he seems to share a common purpose with you regarding the pirate Winchester.”

At that, Michael straightened in his chair immediately. “Bring him in.”

The servant bowed again and turned, returning a moment later with a man clothed in a drab officer's uniform. His hair was disheveled, he needed a good shave, and dirt lay under his nails, but his eyes were clear.

Michael waved the servant out, waiting for the telltale click of the lock before speaking in distaste.

“Whatever you have to say, I hope it is dire enough to impose upon my day in such a manner.”

The man's lips turned up in a sardonic smile as he briefly glanced at the desk. “I can assure you, Governor, that interrupting your daily dose of alcohol and paperwork shall be well worth your time.” His voice held the lilt of the English.

Michael's jaw tightened, but he said only, “Say your piece.”

Without being invited, the man perched on a nearby chair, still not divulging the reasons for intruding, and Michael forced down a growl at the thought of grime covering the rich leather.

“It would be in your best interest to loosen your tongue.”

“I've heard tales that you seek to bind Corsair Winchester and have him swung off,” was the nonchalant reply, and Michael's eyes narrowed.

“How would a street beggar such as yourself know of such things?”

At that, the man rose swiftly, his blue-gray eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“Beggar, eh? I've heard it said that you could never see past the end of your own nose, but I'd not believed it until now.”

Michael gritted, “Either you will tell me what you want, or I will have you thrown back into the road. What is your purpose in coming here?”

“My purpose?” the other man asked, his voice soft and filled with pain. “You and I share the same one. I want to see the life leave that damned pirate's eyes.”

Michael leaned back in the chair, regarding him with mild interest. “You've been through quite the ordeal, it seems. What is your name?”

“Balthazar Sebastian, of the Royal Navy,” was the response. “I sailed with your brother before the  _ Bloody Mary  _ attacked, and out of all aboard Castiel's ship, I alone survived. I seek to honor him by offering you my service in search of the  _ Mary _ and her captain.”

Michael indeed knew of the man; the officer was renowned for his exploits at sea as much as Castiel, and could perhaps have become a Commodore at one time alongside him. But those days were long over.

Choosing not to show his thoughts, the governor replied curtly, “And I assume that Castiel did not tell you he stole my ship, made off with my men, and is responsible for their deaths?” Idly, he picked at a nail. “Or perhaps you believe him to have perished as well? Would it surprise you to know that he lives, as a rogue who has taken up with Winchester?”

Balthazar's eyes widened. Apparently, Michael thought smugly, the man was completely oblivious of it all.

“That's impossible,” Balthazar said, voice strained. “Castiel would never do such a thing. I knew him to be a—”

“You did not know him well enough,” Michael interrupted, tone clipped. “He was only after his own ends, and as such, when Winchester is captured, Castiel will ride the road to the gallows with him.”

Balthazar appeared quite rattled. “He is your brother,” he said quietly. “Will you not grant him clemency?”

Michael sighed dramatically. “As much as I yearn to save his life, I have not arrived at this position by being a man unable to hold to his convictions and the law. I have no choice but to see his punishment through to the end, whatever it may cost me.”

Balthazar was under the distinct impression that Castiel's death would cost the

man nothing, but he wisely did not say so, instead trying one more time to reason with him.

“Governor, I can personally vouch for Castiel's loyalty--”

“And where did that get you?” Michael snapped, tired of the games. “Your fellows are resting at the bottom of the sea, and you have nothing.”

At last, Balthazar's fragile composure slipped. In an instant, he'd lunged forward and caught the other man by the lapels of his waistcoat, his voice dangerously low.

“I have my dignity,  _ Michael _ , and I will be damned before I allow you to kill my dearest friend under the guise of the greater good. I am not a fool—I see your true motives, and by God, I will make certain that the entirety of Port Lawrence knows they are being ruled by a ruthless traitor.”

Michael shoved him away, spitting out, “I doubt you shall do it if you are dead.”

Before Balthazar could move, Michael had drawn a pistol and pointed it directly at the other man's heart, pulling the trigger.


	12. Chapter 12

The crew of the  _ Mary  _ was heartened to hear of Castiel's escape from death, and welcomed their new shipmate with open arms. Samuel, in particular, was quite glad. He clapped the Commodore on the back, a smile upon his face.

“ 'Tis a joy to call you crew and friend,” he offered, and Castiel returned the smile. The younger pirate was full of boundless energy and eagerness, and the Commodore could see that, despite his chosen life, he was gentle as a dove.

“You have my thanks.”

Conspiratorially, Samuel drew Castiel aside, lowering his voice. “My brother has been in sore spirits as of late. Your reappearance has greatly aided his return to a better mood.”

Castiel frowned. “Why would that be?”

Samuel stared at the Commodore as though he'd gone mad. “Do you not know?”

Suddenly, everything from his capture to the recent events that had taken place became quite clear to Castiel. His stomach fluttered, and he shook his head silently. Samuel, however, would not be deterred, continuing as though he hadn't seen the Commodore's obvious denial.

“You may argue the point all you like, Commodore, yet the fact remains that my brother's heart belongs to you—and I daresay you feel the same.”

Without waiting for Castiel to reply, Samuel turned and headed for the stern, leaving the Commodore staring after with his mind reeling.

. . .

It came as no real surprise when Winchester approached him that evening. The rest of the crew had settled in for the night, and Castiel was the only man above decks. The stars shone brightly in the velvet sky as the Corsair spoke.

“You must forgive my brother for his rash words earlier. I assure you-”

The Commodore turned, his blue eyes meeting Winchester's, and the Corsair's breath stuttered at the look.

“He was not wrong,” Castiel replied, and damn the man to Hell and back, Winchester thought with yearning, for his honesty.

Castiel reached out and carefully laid a hand over the Corsair's chest. Beneath his palm, Winchester's heart thundered wildly, and the Commodore said quietly, “I fear that our fates are intertwined, Corsair.”

Winchester's fingers wrapped lightly around Castiel's wrist, and he murmured, “My name is Dean.”

Castiel's own heart nearly ceased to beat as the other man bent his head, and then Winchester's lips were upon his own.

Castiel immediately responded, and when Winchester flicked his tongue against the seam of the Commodore's lips, asking for entrance, he was rewarded by the other man's sigh. Without hesitation, Winchester began to devour his mouth, using his own like a weapon.

Castiel shuddered against him, and Winchester could feel his tight grip even through his clothes. The knowledge that he might very well end up with bruises sent the Corsair's desire skyrocketing, and he pushed the Commodore's back against the ship's rail, breaking the kiss.

Castiel stared at him in confusion, his lips slick and swollen, and Winchester trailed a hand across his collarbone. His gaze was heavy as he crowded the man, and Castiel swallowed tightly. “What is it that you want?” he asked.

“You, Commodore.” Winchester's tone was husky and filled with promise, but Castiel hesitated.

Instantly, the Corsair moved back, his expression turning stoic. His eyes, however, told volumes of his disappointment and sadness.

“Forgive my actions,” he said stiffly. “I meant no offense.”

And it was then Castiel threw everything to the winds. He cautiously stepped forward until they were chest to chest, voice a low rumble. “There has been none given.”

Gently, he reached down to cup the Corsair through his breeches. Winchester remained very still, but a burning desire sparked to life in his gaze once more, and his hands tightened at his sides.

Emboldened, the Commodore began a slow, careful rhythm. The muscles in Winchester's thighs flexed and trembled as he fought to maintain control of himself, yet he made no sound.

Castiel brushed his lips across the Corsair's. The man's grip tightened, and with a groan, Winchester surged forward, trapping the Commodore against the rail once more and grinding his hips down. The other man allowed his legs to fall open, and Winchester slotted himself between them, repeating his previous action as his teeth latched onto the tip of Castiel's ear.

The Commodore choked on a plea, heat flaring through his veins as the erogenous zone was ruthlessly exploited. Winchester laughed, his mouth moving to attack Castiel's neck, lips latching onto his pulse point and sucking a dark bruise into the skin.

“Are you so sensitive? We've not yet begun, Commodore.”

Blue eyes encircled by a ring of black met the Corsair's own. “I advise you to get on with it, or you may lose your chance of participating.”

Winchester grew dizzy with arousal at the thought of the man pleasuring himself, and he leaned forward to rest their foreheads together, grating out, “I will have you, Commodore, if you allow me.”

Castiel turned in his arms to face the sea. Winchester watched greedily as he loosened his breeches, allowing them to pool at his feet. The Commodore's bare arse was exposed, and the Corsair noted with appreciation how round and firm it was. His legs were strong and thick, and Winchester's mouth fairly watered. He quickly divested himself of his own breeches, pressing in against Castiel's back.

“Do you trust me, Commodore?”

The reply was soft. “You may call me Castiel. And I do not believe there has been a moment where I did not, even if my pride would not allow me to see it.”

A kiss was planted between his shoulder blades, and the sound of a small vial being opened was heard. In the next moment, Castiel cried out as a slick finger gently entered his most intimate place.

“Hush,” Winchester murmured. “I will not harm you.”

The Commodore said breathlessly, “The oil—did you plan this?”

He felt Winchester smile into his skin, and his tone was amused. “You've guessed rightly.”

Castiel moaned as a second finger joined the first, and pushed back against the slow stretch greedily. Winchester's voice sounded wrecked when next he spoke.

“Ah, Castiel, you're tormenting me.”

His name on the Corsair's lips was like honeyed whiskey, and the Commodore hung his head, tremors moving through his frame. His hands gripped the rail hard enough that his knuckles were white, and Winchester withdrew his fingers. Castiel whimpered at the loss, and the Corsair whispered, “Easy. I'll soon fill you to the brim.”

The Commodore's knees nearly buckled, and Winchester slid an arm around his middle, lining himself up to enter Castiel.

The slow burn was painful, but such was the Commodore’s need that he ignored it, willing his muscles to relax, and when Castiel was finally, fully breached, the two men let out simultaneous groans.

Winchester sighed, a tremulous sound that broke the silence, and began to move gently. Every roll of his hips left the Commodore shaking, and soon he was meeting the Corsair thrust for thrust, fire tunneling through his veins like gunpowder that had been lit aflame.

The other man’s pace soon changed, becoming faster and more uneven, and their labored breathing filled the quiet air around them as they raced each other to completion.

Castiel was the first to break, his orgasm taking over with a ferocity that left him gasping helplessly. The Corsair soon followed suit, and as his teeth met the Commodore’s shoulder, Castiel was stunned by a second jolting wave of molten heat that swept over him from head to toe. He moaned wantonly, no longer caring about the possibility of listening ears.

Winchester held him tightly as they slipped to the deck, peppering his face with light kisses. His words were breathless, but delighted.

“ ‘Twould seem that you are not the tightly laced seaman I believed you to be. This could not have been your first time.”

Castiel chuckled, meeting Winchester’s happy gaze. “There have been other…indiscretions…in my past.”

The Corsair’s eyes turned devilish. “Oh, aye? And were they as satisfying as our recent one?”

The Commodore grinned. “Nay.”

Winchester laughed outright, drawing Castiel to his side as he propped himself up against the lower rail. “You are full of surprises, Castiel.”

Hearing his name fall from Winchester’s lips again sent a joyous warmth spreading through Castiel’s limbs, which were turning heavy. He murmured, “Perhaps we should move this encounter to your quarters. I would be averse to giving the crew a sight.”

“Mm, there is that,” the Corsair replied lazily, but made no effort to do as the Commodore had suggested. Lightly, Castiel pushed at him until he grumbled, “Aye, I’m coming.”

“You will be,” the Commodore replied with a wicked glance, and was rewarded by Winchester’s shocked look, which quickly turned heated. He leaned forward until his lips were but an inch from Castiel’s own, and breathed, “We shall see who bests whom.”

The Commodore disentangled himself from the Corsair’s arms and rose, gathering their discarded clothing before turning toward the stern, throwing Winchester a raised brow over his shoulder.

“Are you certain you are up for it?”

In the next instant, he found himself swept up into the Corsair’s arms in a bridal style carry, being carted down the ship’s interior hallway. Winchester’s eyes gleamed down at him.

“You’ll soon see just how ‘up’ for a second round I am,” he mocked lovingly, and the Commodore was powerless to resist as Winchester manhandled him inside his quarters, proceeding to reduce him to begging well into the night.

. . .

Winchester woke early, the light of day having barely begun to illuminate the cabin. For a moment, he felt disoriented, and then the body heat seeping into his side made itself known.

A gentle smile crossed the Corsair’s lips as he beheld the Commodore sleeping peacefully, legs tangled with Winchester’s own and one arm flung carelessly above his head. His unruly locks lay in every direction upon the pillows, and the sheets barely covered his lower half. He was the very picture of debauchery.

As if sensing Winchester’s gaze, Castiel cracked open one blue eye. “It is quite impolite to stare.”

The Corsair chuckled softly, rolling them over so that the Commodore rested above him. “I believe I informed you once that you were well worth staring at.”

“So you did.” Castiel smiled at him, and the sight of it sent Winchester’s heart aflutter. He reached up to smooth a dark strand of hair away from the Commodore’s flushed cheek, words he had never imagined he would say tumbling fast and free from his mouth.

“I would bind you to me, now unto eternity. Never have I found a love such as yours.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, and for long moments, he merely stared at the Corsair in surprise. The silence quickly grew unbearable for Winchester, and he spoke quietly.

“ ‘Tis not my intent to drive you toward commitment, Commodore.”

Castiel frowned at Winchester’s return to formality, but said gently, “I know what you speak of. Had I been worried about such things, I would not have allowed you to bed me at the first.”

Matelotage was not a foreign concept to the Commodore. He had heard of it often in his time, and though it was something he had certainly never seen himself taking part in, he could not deny that the prospect of sharing a life with Winchester caused him incalculable happiness. “When?”

Winchester’s brow creased. “When what?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “When will we be bonded?”

The Corsair’s expression changed from confusion to joy in mere seconds, and he pulled Castiel down for a kiss that left the Commodore desperately seeking air.

“As soon as you desire,” he whispered, and Castiel arched as cool fingers traveled over his spine, slowly but surely drifting downward.

“This very day, then,” he said breathlessly, and Winchester buried his face in the Commodore’s neck, inhaling his scent as he murmured, “So it shall be.”

The sharp rap on Winchester’s door startled them both, and before the Corsair could answer, it was opened. Utter silence followed, and then Rufus’ gruff, slightly amused voice was heard.

“Well, ‘tis no wonder you and the Commodore have been scarce.”

“What is it that you need?” Winchester asked sharply, trying in vain to cover them both sufficiently enough, but Castiel pushed his hands away with a grin.

“I would not bother with modesty now.”

Rufus raised an eyebrow. “ ‘Tis past dawn, and the crew awaits orders. That is, if you can untangle yourself from his--”

“Aye, now away with you!” Winchester ordered harshly, and was rewarded by Rufus’ snort as he departed.

Castiel was shaking with laughter beside him, and the Corsair growled, “What is it?”

The sight of his lover trying to be stern while naked as the day he was birthed only served to amuse Castiel further. With a huff, Winchester rose and began to dress, and the sight of his tightly muscled bare arse made Castiel’s body began to take an interest immediately. He quenched the desire, however, and began to clothe himself as well.

Before Castiel could open the door again, Winchester pulled him into his arms for another long, lingering kiss.

“You are my everything,” he breathed. “By the gods, I will protect you until my last breath, though it cost me all.”

Castiel paused, and found he could not explain why such words suddenly left him feeling chilled.


	13. Chapter 13

Balthazar had the presence of mind to duck as soon as he saw the gun, and instead of ending his life, it skimmed past his ear to take the head off of a rather expensive-looking Grecian bust behind him. Michael snarled and tossed the weapon to the side, his face like a thundercloud. For a moment, neither man moved.

At last the Governor spoke.

“You have appeared unannounced, threatened me, and destroyed my property. I should have you swung off for this, but it seems you have the skills needed to serve me better alive.”

Balthazar glared at him. “I will never aid you in the capture and death of my dearest friend.”

Michael smiled coldly. “You prefer the gallows, then?”

The other man clenched his jaw. If he were to be hung, he could not help Castiel and subsequently remove the bastard Winchester from the earth. He would do what was necessary.

“It is plain I have no choice,” he said stiffly, and Michael chuckled darkly.

“That you do not.” Returning to his desk, he sat once more. “I will confer upon you the title of Vice-Admiral privately, with as few witnesses as possible, and only those loyal to me. You shall be given a ship and a crew to command, and I expect you to set sail immediately. Do not return until you have both Castiel and the Corsair secured in your hold. I give you my word you shall retain a handsome sum for them both.”

Balthazar gave a terse nod. “As you wish.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, and Balthazar amended tightly, “As you wish, sir.”

“Good man.” Michael turned his eyes back to the papers upon his desk. “You may go. I care not where you lodge, but know what awaits you should you attempt escape.”

It was clear the meeting was over, and Balthazar made for the door. Before he opened it, Michael called out to him in a conversational tone.

“Do try to look somewhat appeased. It is not every day I offer riffraff such as you pardons.”

. . .

Winchester had informed Castiel that the  _ Mary  _ belonged to him now, as well, and the Commodore had decided to explore every nook he could to learn about the vessel his swain so adored.

He’d ended up traveling the length of a long hallway, unable to ignore the delicious smells in the air. A deep voice hummed a sea shanty, which abruptly stopped as the Commodore neared.

“Well, d’ya plan on entering or hovering, boy?”

Castiel peered around the edge of the woodwork. A man stood behind a wooden ledge, chopping vegetables. A partially de-feathered chicken sat on the other side of him.

Without looking up, the cook continued. “Word is you’re the Captain’s strumpet.”

Castiel bristled immediately. “I am no one’s  _ strumpet _ .”

“Didn’t mean no disrespect.” A pair of wise eyes met his. “ ‘Course, not everyone’s gonna act nice t’ya.”

Castiel frowned, entering the kitchen. “What is it that you mean to say?”

The cook shrugged, turning to dump the vegetables into a steaming kettle set upon the fire. “Some men ain’t learned yet to live and let live. Matelotage ain’t no easy thing.”

Castiel replied sharply, “And what is your opinion?”

“Don’t give a damn ‘bout either th’ legality or morality of it. Pirates ain’t on th’ good side of either a’those, anyways.”

For some moments, the Commodore watched the cook go about his business. At last he said, without quite knowing why he was divulging so much to someone he had only just met, “I love Dean.”

The other man did not seem fazed that Castiel had used Winchester’s first name, as he was rewarded with only a nod. “I know y’do. That boy’s been doin’ nothin’ ‘cept talkin’ ‘bout ya since ya came back.”

Castiel was not sure how to respond to such information, and it appeared that the pirate knew it. He met his confused, wary gaze head on.

“Why don’tcha come on in here, Commodore, and see if my soup’s worth dishin’ out to the boys above decks? ‘Twould hate t’be poisonin’ 'em all ‘fore the journey’s through.”

The invitation had absolutely nothing to do with making sure the man’s food was edible—Castiel was sure that he would have been able to make even the most unsavory scraps taste as though they’d come from heaven itself—but he took it for what it was, finding a place to perch. For some time, there was only a companionable silence, and then the Commodore spoke.

“”Your captain does not seem to be one to forgive the ills performed against him. Much of his heart seethes with anger.”

The cook snorted, adding a splash of something to the kettle that Castiel could not see. “Oh, aye? What gave ya that idea?” His tone was gruff, but inherent in his words was a fatherly love for the Corsair, and Castiel suddenly realized a truth.

“You are Bloody Robert, the pirate whose actions saved his crew many times,” he said quietly. “Dean has spoken of you often.”

The other man stopped all movement, and it was a long moment before he turned to face the Commodore. Where his right eye should have been was a large black patch, and running underneath it to his jawline was an enormous, raised leathery scar. His sleeves had been rolled up to the elbows to keep them out of his way, and Castiel saw that his forearms and biceps were a discolored tangle of more healed-over wounds. However, the most obvious defect was a long, wooden stump where his left leg used to be, starting just above the knee.

“I ain’t too much t’look at, am I?”

Castiel scrambled to explain his shocked expression. “I did not mean--”

The pirate barked out a kindly laugh. “Don’tcha go on thinkin’ I’m all full a’some kind a’exasperation, now,” he chuckled. “A man gets used t’what he sees in th’ lookin’ glass every day.” He shoved a bowl toward Castiel. “Eat, Commodore.”

Castiel brought the spoon to his lips, and was pleasantly stunned. The broth was both sweet and salty, and the few vegetables were cooked to perfection. But the chicken was the greatest surprise—tender and moist, with a hint of what tasted like rum.

Robert grinned at the expression on the Commodore’s face. “Passable, is it?”

Castiel swallowed his mouthful and quickly sought to praise the cook. “I daresay the crew will not perish this night—or any other time that you see fit to fill their bellies.”

The cook threw back his head and laughed. “Good t’know that I’m useful for somethin’.”

Castiel smiled into another mouthful. Robert was certainly someone that took a bit of getting used to, but the Commodore could plainly see that the pirate was worth having on board the ship, and not only for his skills with cuisine. It was apparent that the man had been through much, and yet he’d chosen not to remain bitter. That was something that Castiel admired deeply.

“So, when are th’ two o’ya gonna get tied?”

Castiel set down the bowl, suddenly feeling agitated. It must have shown on his face, for Robert stared hard at him.

“Y’gettin’ cold feet?”

“No, never that.” Castiel took a breath. “I am sure my brother is searching for me. I committed acts of treason, and he does not take kindly to such things.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “Treason, eh? What’cha do?”

“I stole his ship and made off with it. There were a number of his men aboard that changed their loyalties to mine. When we met you at first in the open waters, all were killed in the battle that ensued.” Castiel sighed. “I did not know then that I would fall so deeply in love with your Captain.”

The pirate hummed. “Aye, I don’t believe anyone could’a predicted that one.” He paused, frowning.

“Whose yer brother?”

Guiltily, Castiel replied, “Governor Michael Novak, of Port Lawrence. He has been responsible for much bribery and, I’m quite sure, other things he has refused to divulge, even to God.”

Robert’s eyes darkened. “Oh, aye, he has. Why d’ya think I’m aboard this here ship?”

Castiel suddenly felt nauseous, and after a long silence, spoke quietly.

“I do not know, but my heart tells me that the reason sprang from his evil.”

Robert spat upon the wood boards below them. “I used t’be a blacksmith. Had a wife, too, pretty young thing I loved with my whole soul. A’course, yer brother there wanted her bad; wanted all I owned. Told him t’go fuck himself, and th’next night they came for us, him an’ his men.” Tears rose in his eyes.

“I tried t’fight, but ‘twas no use. They beat me to th’ point o’death, an’ then th’ bastards had their way with her, over an’ over, until she grabbed one a’ their swords an’ ran herself through with it.”

Castiel closed his eyes, grief and fury washing over him at the tale. But Robert wasn’t finished.

“I was layin’ there barely able t’move, an’ my dead, brutalized wife half a foot away, when they set fire t’ everythin’. A’course, they did that after they saw fit t’take my eye an’ leave me bleedin’ out.”

No longer able to bear either the words or the sorrow in Robert’s voice, Castiel turned and promptly lost the contents of his stomach into a nearby empty barrel of whiskey that was, luckily, right-side up. When he was through, he said hoarsely, “I would offer comfort, but I cannot find words sufficient enough to soothe such a horrid experience.”

Robert swiped a hand across his face, saying wearily, “All a’us on this ship got our demons, boy. All a’us. And I daresay ya ain’t no exception to th’rule.”

Once again, without knowing quite why he did so, Castiel shivered at such ominous words.


	14. Chapter 14

Delaney quietly slipped from the alley, where he'd finished “questioning” the old drunk, and wiped the blood from his knife on a thin kerchief he dropped at the dead man's feet before returning to the bustling street. The information wasn't much, given that the man had been thoroughly in his cups by the time Delaney found him, but what he had discovered would suffice for now.

The  _ Pride of Heaven  _ had been in a brutal altercation with the pirate vessel  _ The Bloody Mary.  _ None of her crew had been left alive, except perhaps for the “pretty boy” who had crewed the  _ Pride.  _ No doubt, the drunkard had slurred, such a one was currently warming Corsair Winchester's bed.

Delaney had thanked the man for his information, and had been rewarded with a toothy grin. It had stayed frozen to his face when the bounty hunter had killed him.

Whistling to himself as he strode down the cobblestones, Delaney's fingers caressed the pouch inside his left pocket, which held a letter signed and sealed from the governor of Port Lawrence. To the untrained eye, the wording would appear as a letter of marque, but it was in reality permission to send both Castiel Novak and Winchester to their gods—something that Delaney would do cheerfully.

Outfitting a ship should not prove to be too difficult. He was a man of few words, and the concealed weapons he carried on his person would hinder any sort of trouble, including unnecessary inquiries. The only obstacle might be the Corsair himself, but as always, Delaney had already formed a contingency plan...and it was one that he was certain would not fail.

. . .

Dean smiled down at the map on his desk he was poring over as he felt Castiel's lips land upon the back of his neck.

“I do hope that Robert did not bore you with war stories.”

“No. We spoke of...other matters.”

Something in his lover's voice made Dean set down the compass he held, turning to face the other man. Castiel's eyes were haunted, and the Corsair gently cupped his chin, his expression the very picture of concern.

“What troubles you?” he asked softly, and Castiel swallowed tightly.

“How does a man who has seen so much horror continue to fight another day?” he whispered, and Winchester drew the Commodore into his arms as he sighed. It was plain that the cook's tale of his background had greatly disturbed Castiel.

“I have known many men, and I have given the titles of both friend and family to a mere handful. This crew is one that I can count on to protect me with their very souls. It is a harsh and difficult life Robert has led, but as he has told me many times, it is one that he would not change the circumstances of. They have created the person he is this day.” Winchester pulled back to stare deep into Castiel's sorrowful eyes.

“Many a man wishes for forgiveness and freedom, and seldom does he find it,” he murmured. “You and the  _ Mary  _ have given me both.”

Castiel pulled the Corsair's head down for a soft kiss. “The day we met, I despised you,” he admitted quietly. “Now, I cannot think of a life spent alone.”

Winchester's hands drifted down to wrap around Castiel's wrists as he replied against the Commodore's lips.

“Gods willing, you never shall.”

For as many times in a week, Castiel's back was chilled by foreboding, as if an unseen hand from beyond Earth's realm had trailed its icy fingers down his spine. The feeling was becoming all too familiar, and the Commodore shuddered.

Winchester stared at him, long and hard. “What is it?”

“I cannot tell for certain,” Castiel admitted, his voice heavy with anxiety, “but I fear that you shall be taken from me. I cannot shake this notion, however I may try.”

The Corsair tightened his grip on Castiel, his expression fierce.

“No man or spirit shall tear me from your side while I yet remain in this world.” He smiled then, pressing something into the Commodore's palm and closing his fingers over it.

“I pray this is proof enough.”

Quizzically, Castiel looked at him before opening his hand. His heart beat wildly in his chest at what he saw.

A silver band, strong yet light, rested there, gleaming in the lamplight. Castiel knew from one glance that it would fit him perfectly, and he slowly met Winchester's eyes, his own damp with emotion.

The Corsair spoke in a hushed tone. “I cannot provide you with fine things, an estate, or a grand title of importance such as another would, but what I can give you, Castiel—my undying love—I offer you now.”

Castiel had to swallow twice before he could speak, and even then, at first, his answer was simply to slide the ring onto his left hand. Without his consent, a tear tracked down his cheek.

“I shall love you until I breathe my last,” he vowed in a whisper.

Winchester leaned over to extinguish the lamp, and in the darkness, with the moonlight as their only witness, they wed in a private ceremony of touch.

. . .

Cassandra smiled at the well-dressed man who stood at the brothel's door, his head bent slightly downward to hide his face. If he wished to remain anonymous, that was no business of hers or her girls; his money was their main interest. His voice was low when he spoke, and she allowed the front of her thin dress to fall open a bit more.

“I've come for your services, miss. I've a mission I'm on.”

The woman let out a soft laugh, not unkind. “That's quite apparent.” Her tone turned sultry, and she trailed a hand over his chest. “How many are needed to fufill your...mission?”

In an instant, the man had caught her wrist in a bruising grip, his coat sliding to the side to reveal an elegantly carved pistol. When he met her gaze, the scar on his face made her gasp.

“That will depend on you.”

He had shoved her inside the door and against the wall before the woman could signal for help, a small dagger at her side.

“I wouldn't think of it. Scream, and I'll wash these floors with the blood of every wench here, starting with the youngest.”

Tears filled Cassandra's eyes, but she kept her chin lifted, defiance in her voice as she spoke.

“I do not know what you desire, but you may take your vile plans and place them as high up your perfumed arse as they may go.”

A smile only served to accentuate the horrific disfigurement the man bore, and he chuckled.

“Tsk. Such a mouth. Perhaps you could tell me if it has been used on Corsair Winchester as of late?”

Her brown eyes grew large, yet she shook her head. “I...have not seen him in many months.”

The dagger stuck her more fiercely, and he growled, “I know that you have knowledge of the Corsair and his whereabouts. For the sake of your little 'family' here, I would advise you not to toy with me.”

Cassandra spat in his face. “Even if that were the case, you may still go to hell.”

He stared at her for a moment, seeming to contemplate her words, and then leaned in to speak in her ear.

“I suppose I shall meet you there, then.”

With a practiced move, Delaney drove the knife up and under her ribcage and twisted it, watching as the light left her eyes. Disinterestedly, he allowed her to slip to the floor, and stepped over her cooling body back into the busy thoroughfare outside.

The brothel owner could no longer be used as leverage, but he had another, far more viable option—and this one, he knew, would succeed without question.

. . .

His crew had not yet risen as Winchester gently disentangled himself from Castiel's arms, not bothering to button his tunic as he went abovedecks. The stars hung low in the navy sky, the faintest hint of pink brushing the horizon.

The Corsair leaned his forearms on the ship's rail, his heart aching. Despite his love for the Commodore, he knew that a life at sea was by no means easy, and death could come at any moment. Castiel's apprehension concerning his lover's appointed time to live was not something Winchester took lightly, but he could not find it in himself to tell the Commodore that he harbored the same fears.

A breeze had picked up, and Winchester shivered slightly. Without thinking, his hand drifted to the small blade at his waist. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, as if daring him to turn around.

The Corsair stiffened. He did not fear the living nor the dead, and gripping the knife tightly, he spun in place to face the stern.

All the breath left the Corsair's lungs in an instant, and he fell to his knees, the knife clattering to the deck.

“Mother.”

Mary Winchester smiled sadly as she walked closer. Her feet were bare, and she was clothed in a simple red and white dress. The Corsair had no doubt she was but spirit, and he closed his eyes, trembling.

“My precious child,” Mary said wistfully, and her voice was ethereal—soft like a summer rain, yet able to carry effortlessly, and even those two simple words made Winchester prostrate himself before her.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded. “I have failed you. My endeavor to avenge your memory has come to naught.”

A sensation like the touch of a hand upon his cheek made the Corsair choke back tears as Mary spoke again.

“Revenge is a cruel master, Dean, and it leaves the heart cold.” It almost seemed she sighed. “Your father would be devastated should he know what Michael Novak has wrought.”

At that, Dean lifted his head.

“My father?” he said, his voice full of confusion and turmoil. “John Winchester is long dead.”

There was silence for a moment, and the Corsair feared that Mary had returned to the realm of the dead. But her next words shook the very foundations of everything Dean knew and loved.

“No, my son. Your father is alive.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

Castiel woke suddenly in a cold sweat, as though the very hands of death had touched him. He could not recall what he had dreamt, but the feelings of desperation and despair that cradled him were all too real.

Reaching out for the Corsair, he found the bed long since cold. Where Winchester had gone, the Commodore wasn’t certain.

Dressing quickly, Castiel headed for the main deck on intuition. The sounds of the crew slowly coming awake around him followed him as he stepped into the cool morning air, the early sun’s rays warding off the chill as he crossed the planks on quiet feet.

Winchester was perched on the stairs, his hands folded loosely in his lap as he gazed out to sea with empty eyes. He did not move or speak when Castiel sat beside him, and the Commodore did not open his mouth. He knew that Winchester would talk when he was ready.

Sure enough, the Corsair spoke a few moments later, his words heavy and sad.

“Do you think me a decent man?”

The question surprised Castiel, and he paused before answering.

“You have led a difficult life, and have been forced to make many undesirable choices. Yet that does not negate the fact that your heart is true.”

Green eyes, fraught with anguish, latched onto blue. “You will think me mad.”

Castiel said gently, “We are all mad creatures. What has happened?”

The Corsair spoke in agitation, and his words stunned the Commodore.

“The gods saw fit to gift me with a visitation earlier.”

The feeling of dread had returned tenfold, and Castiel fought the urge to shiver as he asked, “Who was this visitor?”

Winchester’s jaw trembled slightly, and he was visibly pale. “My mother.”

The Commodore found he could not speak, but his words were not necessary as the Corsair continued.

“She spoke of my father. I had thought him to be resting in a watery grave, but he lives.”

“How is such a thing possible?” Castiel breathed, still somewhat in shock. “You have said my brother--”

“I know not.” Winchester stood, his distress evident. “For years I have lived my life believing that what I was doing was right, Castiel. I harbored the foolish notion that it was my duty to act as both judge and jury when it came to the demise of John and Mary Winchester, and now, to learn that my sire walks this earth unharmed…” He shook his head slowly, seeming to be in a daze. “I cannot fathom it.”

For his part, the Commodore’s mind reeled. How had Michael orchestrated such a horrific crime as to slay one Winchester, and leave the other embittered and alone, yet alive? Castiel would never understand the depths of depravity Michael had slipped into.

“What is your plan?” he asked softly.

Winchester’s voice was hollow. “I do not have one.”

Castiel rose as well, wrapping a gentle hand around the Corsair’s own. “Whatever you decide, I will stand with you.”

The silver of the ring on the Commodore’s finger flashed in the sun, bright and blinding like Castiel’s love and loyalty. Winchester stared at it, and prayed that neither were misplaced.

. . .

True to his word, Michael had given Balthazar everything—title, estate, ship, and crew. The Governor’s gestures did nothing to ease the man’s spirit. If anything, it only caused him more guilt, and increasing grief, that he had turned on Castiel.

“Come, now,” Michael said brusquely, as Balthazar stood stiffly in his office, clothed in a crisp new uniform and shining boots. The older Novak had somehow gotten his tailor and cobbler to produce both articles in the span of only three days. “Brooding over Castiel will do you no good. You have a duty to fulfill, and cannot afford to be distracted by lesser matters.”

Balthazar clenched his jaw. He hardly thought betraying his friend was a “lesser matter”, but did not speak his mind. Instead, he offered a tight, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Michael watched him until Balthazar wished to scream, but again, he did not show his inner turmoil, returning Michael’s cool gaze without blinking. Apparently pleased that he had such mettle, the Governor sat back.

“Your vessel sits waiting, Vice Admiral Sebastian. Do well by her and your crew, and I assure you that we will have victory in due time.”

When Michael said nothing more, Balthazar bowed stiffy at the waist. “Thank you, sir.”

As he left Michael’s study, hoarse coughing was heard from a room down the hall, coupled with what Balthazar perceived to be the sound of a maid’s gentle voice. His pace slowed, and suddenly the maid was staring at him from a slightly open doorway. Her eyes were wide and frightened, but before he could ask any questions, she had closed the door tightly.

Balthazar frowned. Something was not right, but he had neither the time—nor the permission—to dwell on it.

The sun was high in the sky, and he tugged lightly at his collar. As he passed those residents going about their business, he was greeted by bows and curtsies, and the occasional one even stepped out of the way for him. Balthazar hated the attention. He did not deserve nor wish for it, and it only made his guilt run deeper.

“Vice Admiral Sebastian,” a voice greeted him, and Balthazar realized that his feet had carried him to the docks without his knowledge. A man in lieutenant’s attire stood at the edge of the pier and gave him a salute, clicking his heels together. Balthazar raised his eyes. In the water rested a stately vessel, the flags of the Royal Navy flying high from her mast. She smelled of new pitch; obviously Michael had commissioned her to be built solely for this occasion. In elegant gold script upon her hull was emblazoned the title  _ The Crimson Saber _ .

Balthazar resisted the urge to grit his teeth. Michael knew all too well the number of men—and friends—he had lost to the sword, and he had no doubt the ship’s name was a subtle jab.

“Sir?”

“What is it?” Balthazar replied tersely, and the officer tilted his head slightly. “We await your command. All is in order.”

If the other man had knowledge of what Balthazar was doing in the role of Vice Admiral, how he had gotten to that position, or why, he did not show it, simply stepping aside as Balthazar boarded the gangplank, watching as the line was cut and the  _ Saber _ began her journey toward open waters. His heart twisted in grief at the thought of running his dearest friend through, and bile rose in his throat.

Abruptly, he turned to the officer. “What is your name?”

“Commodore Northburn, sir.”

“Should you have need of me, Commodore, I shall be in my quarters.” He turned away, then paused to whirl around again.

“And should you find any damned wine on this ship, I demand it be brought immediately.”

Northburn appeared surprised, but said only, “As you wish, sir.”

Without another word, Balthazar stormed to the stern.

. . .

“You plan to do what?”

Winchester looked up at his brother, whose expression was the very picture of astonishment.

“Turn her around,” the Corsair repeated, “and make for New Providence without delay.”

Samuel blinked. “We have just barely returned to open seas from Tortuga, intent on heading for Dominica to lose the eyes of the Royal Navy.”

“I know.” Winchester did not meet his sibling’s gaze as he fiddled with a half-empty glass of whiskey on his desk, and Samuel sighed.

“Loyalty and trust on this vessel runs deep, but it cannot survive without honesty from you. Why this sudden change of mind?”

The Corsair said quietly, “There is someone I need to find.”

“Who?”

Winchester’s eyes were filled with disquietude as he at last looked up.

“Our father.”

“What?” Samuel frowned. “He is resting at the bottom of Davy Jones’ Locker. Rufus spoke of--”

“He was wrong.” Winchester rose. “John Winchester lives.”

“But…how is such a thing possible?” Samuel demanded, and the Corsair’s sigh was tremulous as he moved to stand at the porthole.

“You would do better to ask how Mother was able to traverse the spirit world and grace me with her presence earlier. It was from her lips that I learned Father yet survives.”

Samuel’s legs gave way, and he collapsed into his brother’s chair. His eyes were wide, and he found he could not speak. It was just as well, for Winchester continued softly.

“I cannot let this opportunity pass, Samuel. For too many long years I have waited with unanswered questions, grief, and anger. I must locate the man who sired us, and put an end to all my suffering.”

“When you meet him at last, what will you then do?” Samuel asked in a whisper, and Winchester’s words were grim.

“Either he will explain himself, or he will die.”

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

The streets were filled with the sounds of laughter and business, and the man quietly wove his way through the crowds, his head lowered slightly. He did not wish to attract attention, especially here. Too much was at stake, and he could not afford to let his guard down, not even for the space of a moment.

Without so much as two words exchanged, he picked up fruit and a loaf of freshly baked bread from a nearby hawker of wares, dropping the required amount of currency in front of the seller before carrying on. He was given nothing more than a nod before the money was collected, and the other man turned to serve another hungry stomach.

A shoulder bumped his roughly, and he murmured, “I beg your pardon,” before slipping past the person to continue on.

A voice, tinged with sarcastic amusement, was heard behind him.

“Pardon? Is such a thing even possible, Corsair, after the things you have done?”

John Winchester stopped in his tracks, feeling as though the icy hands of winter had gripped him. Slowly, he turned, his gaze cool.

“ ‘Tis a title I have left behind, sir.”

“Oh, I think not. Once a brigand, always a brigand.” The other man casually picked at a nail. “And it will be my pleasure to rid the world of you.”

A crowd had gathered, and John said sharply, “I have no quarrel with you, and there are innocents here. Allow me to walk away.”

He was greeted by a raised brow. “Innocents? Strange that you should care so much for the likes of those you once chose to destroy—and quite brutally, at that.”

John clenched his jaw as the crowd began to murmur, some drawing back. “That life is no longer mine.”

A dark smile crossed the other man’s face. The two began to circle each other slowly, and John prayed he would not have to draw his blade.

“Perhaps it is not your life, but it is the life of your sons.”

The world seemed to stand still on its axis. John’s chest had tightened, and he snarled, “I know you not, nor am I aware of your devious tricks, but ‘tis best to leave my children out of this. They do not deserve to know I exist.”

“Ah, so you do admit to leaving them.”

“My patience is rapidly declining.” John’s hand drifted to his waist, where a leather sheath was easily within reach. “ ‘Tis better if you were to depart.”

“Or?” The man’s voice was dangerously soft, and a gruesome scar was revealed when he turned his face to the light of the setting sun.

John’s fingers closed tightly around the hilt of his weapon. “Or I fear ‘tis my duty to do what I must.”

His opponent drew his own blade, his smile cold. “What you must do, Corsair, is die.”

John stared at him with a gaze frozen as ice, his voice a hiss. “Do not test me.”

The crowd gasped and stumbled away as he pulled a long, beautiful blade from his waist, quite obviously a pirate’s weapon. John regretted it, but there was nothing for it now.

The first strike from the other man was practiced and sure, but the elder Winchester had not lived a life on the seas to be ignorant of swordplay. The two fenced in an elegant display, their every parry and thrust pushing them both to the limit.

At last, it was clear the man had realized he was in over his head. With their blades locked tightly as they struggled, he gritted, “It is quite clear where your cursed children learned the art of the kill. Your name is well known, Corsair.”

In an instant, John had produced a small dirk and drawn it up and across the man's throat, whispering fiercely in his ear as his enemy choked on his own blood.

“My name is Death, and your time has ended.”

John watched with heaving chest as the man crumpled to the cobblestones, the light fading from his eyes, and threw both weapons atop the body in disgust.

The crowd was eerily silent, and John raised his head, looking over them all—men, women, even children. His voice carried, though he spoke softly.

“Your angel is no more than a demon. I suggest you find another to save and protect you.”

Without another word, he walked through the masses and went his way.

. . .

Castiel stepped away from the helm as Samuel approached, giving the other man a gentle nod. The younger man seemed concerned, and Castiel touched his arm.

“What troubles you?”

For a moment, Samuel did not answer, a fine crease between his brows. When he at last spoke, Castiel frowned in confusion.

“Dean has ordered that we change course immediately, and make for New Providence.”

“Why? I thought it was our aim to run from the Royal Navy, not towards it.”

Samuel sighed. “As did I.” He hesitated, and Castiel felt his limbs grow cold with apprehension.

“What is he planning, Samuel? My instincts tell me it is nothing good.”

“Dean intends to seek out our father,” Samuel said at last, and the Commodore’s breath failed him for the space of a moment at the words.

“Is this prudent?” Castiel asked quietly. “He shared with me this morning’s strange encounter, but I did not believe he would act so quickly on such a small portion of information. How can he be certain John Winchester will be in New Providence—or that the man wishes to be discovered? It has been many years, and Dean is no longer a child with fanciful thoughts. He has seen the worst that the world has to offer, and I fear your father is no exception.”

Samuel sighed as he turned the  _ Mary _ to the west, a sound that was both mournful and filled with regret. “My brother is a hard man outwardly, but doubtless you have witnessed his other side—one of insecurities and old wounds. He believes that confronting our father will bring him closure, but I fear that it will only serve to make him bitter and unyielding. I had tried to convince him to stay the course we traveled, yet he would not listen.”

The two were silent until Castiel dared to ask, “When he at last finds the man, what will he do?”

Samuel’s eyes were haunted. “He will force an explanation. If he does not receive one, the outcome will be disastrous.”

There was no mistaking the words, and the Commodore’s eyes widened. “Surely he does not mean to commit patricide?”

The other man’s grim look was answer enough, and Castiel turned away. “I cannot permit it. Dean is better than this.”

“Castiel,” Samuel warned, “there is no changing Dean’s mind when he has it set.”

“It may be so, but I will not cease to try.”

Samuel watched as the Commodore departed for his brother’s quarters, and simply shook his head.

. . .

“I must do this. You cannot possibly understand.”

Castiel folded his arms. “If I do not, then explain it to me. What good could possibly come of running John Winchester through?”

“He abandoned us,” Winchester spat, his eyes aflame. “Our mother was left to perish, and the man turned tail like a dog. I will hear from his own mouth that he is unworthy of living, or else I will make him feel it on the point of my blade.”

“Violence does not bring peace. There must be another way.”

“There is no other way!” The Corsair’s fist came down on the desk, rattling the lamp. “I refuse to let a dog such as he is slip away from the consequences he has brought upon himself. The man is no more than a coward.”

Quietly, Castiel replied, “Who has appointed you judge and jury?”

Winchester’s eyes narrowed, and his voice was cold. “Careful, Commodore. You tread on unstable ground, and know not of that which you speak.”

Castiel’s jaw tightened, and he said sharply, “I do indeed know well what you feel. Many times I have entertained dark thoughts about Michael, but acting on them would have solved nothing except to leave me hung and Anna deserted. I do not ask you to pretend that your pain and anger do not exist, only to consider that the course of action you have planned will lead to the gallows. There are other ways to express your fury and grief.” The Commodore swallowed. “And I cannot lose you to the end of a rope.”

The Corsair’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he sighed. “What do you propose, then?”

“Take us to New Providence, if I cannot convince you otherwise. But do not immediately search for John. Allow the Fates to bring him to you, and whatever may come then, accept with grace.”

Winchester smiled wryly. “And if I face a blade or death?”

Castiel reached out to gently touch the other man’s cheek. “Then I shall face it with you.”

The Corsair turned his head and pressed his lips to Castiel’s palm. “You alone can calm my raging heart. Forgive me.”

Castiel’s reply was soft. “Always.”

. . .

“Sir?”

Balthazar glared at the closed cabin door, his head pounding with the strength of a thousand war drums, and eyed his nearly empty glass. Damn whoever stood on the other side for the interruption!

“What is it?” he barked, and the door opened to reveal Northburn.

“I apologize for the intrusion, sir, but we’ve just had word that the  _ Bloody Mary  _ is returning to New Providence. The reason is not yet clear; however, we are but a day’s journey away from it.” He paused.

Balthazar massaged the bridge of his nose. “Are you waiting for my approval, Commodore?”

“You are the deciding voice on this vessel, sir,” Northburn said carefully, and Balthazar sighed heavily.

“Make for New Providence without delay.”

Northburn clicked his heels. “Yes, sir.”

Balthazar watched the door long after Northburn had departed and closed it, a lump in his throat. Castiel’s impending doom hung over his head like Damocles’ blade, and he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as the thrumming in his head grew more insistent. No amount of wine could ever erase the horrific images his mind supplied of his dearest friend run through, and Balthazar covered his face in despair.

The weight of all he had done and was about to do was crushing him, and may God forgive him, Balthazar had no strength left to fight the pressure.

  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

Michael drummed his fingers on the desk as he looked over the maps and reports of the  _ Bloody Mary _ ’s whereabouts, deep in thought. He knew that Castiel had, at best, joined himself to the pirate crew or been thrown overboard for refusing to conform…or at worst, had joined himself to Corsair Winchester. The Governor was well aware of his brother’s inclinations toward members of his own sex, and any of the possible options were deplorable. Michael’s mouth twisted in disgust.

The only consolation seemed to be that the pirate vessel had turned herself around and headed for the pirate haven of New Providence, and for that, Michael was grateful. The tales of violence on the island had long been relayed, and the man could only hope that Winchester was cut from gut to gullet by another scoundrel for some intended or imagined offense.

Of course, Michael thought, that would undermine the purpose of sending the  _ Saber _ out, but truth be told, the Governor could have cared less about Balthazar Sebastian. The man had already disgraced himself in his own mind. No amount of pardon would change that, and if he was being honest, Michael hoped that Castiel, Winchester, and the newly minted Vice Admiral’s sullied trinity would meet their Maker without delay.

The only question that remained for Michael was regarding Delaney. The man had certainly seemed to be capable, but Michael had not heard from him in weeks. It would not do for word to get back to Port Lawrence that their Governor had approved the services of an assassin. No matter the reasons he gave, Michael knew full well that such an act could have him swinging from the end of a rope. Despite his power and authority in his current position, the Crown would not take lightly matters of treason. He had to tread carefully from this point forward.

With a sigh, Michael reached for the glass of brandy he had poured himself. There was far too much on his plate, and he had yet to see his sister for the day.

He paused before his hand could bring said glass to his lips, suddenly struck by the

thought of having to witness his sibling's eventual demise. Though many thought him cold and callous, Michael did indeed have a heart that could be pricked when the need called for it, and he grieved at the fact that he could not save Anna. The woman deserved far more than to simply waste away on her sickbed, but there was little he could do. It seemed even the doctor was running out of options, as had been evidenced during his last visit, when Michael had-nearly literally-thrown him out for his lack of answers.

The man's jaw tightened. If only Anna did not have to suffer, and could be afforded a far more peaceful death, perhaps he would have some peace. Even the laudanum that had been prescribed her was apparently useless.

_ Laudanum. _

Michael set the glass down on the burnished wood with a sharp rap, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular as his mind reeled.

In small doses, the drug was intended to relieve pain and induce sleep. In a much higher concentration, if not used properly, death was swift, inevitable, and unavoidable.

If Anna was to perish nonetheless, Michael knew it was his duty, as the only responsible one left in the family, to ensure that she passed into the realms of glory without enduring the terrible agony which would surely come for her. There was no other way, and if he was to stand in judgment for it, so be it.

An eternity spent in damnation was a small price to pay for saving his sister from the demon of disease.

. . .

Winchester turned as the crew disembarked from the  _ Bloody Mary _ , giving her one last once-over before speaking to Rufus.

“All is in order?”

“Aye,” the other man replied, and stared at his captain with a look that the Corsair did not care for.

“What is it?” Winchester said sharply.

“I do not know your reasons for turning around to this godforsaken island, but my instincts tell me that we are all soon to be involved in something rash. I daresay you'd best know what you are about to face.”

Winchester's eyes narrowed. “You have a disagreeable habit of questioning me, Mr. Turner. 'Tis not something I appreciate.”

Rufus returned the gaze without hesitation. “And you seem to be seeking something that it is not the will of the gods to give you. Perhaps you'd do better to simply accept what is.”

The Corsair ground his teeth as he watched him walk down the dock towards the main square. The other man was a damned good pirate, and he had become a close friend, but his words often caused Winchester's patience to be sorely tested.

Samuel's voice was heard behind him as he inwardly seethed.

“I pray that you understand the decision you have made,” he said quietly.

“I would not willingly put any of you in harm's way,” the Corsair replied in soft tones. “And least of all you, Samuel. I am hardly cruel.”

“Aye,” his brother agreed, yet a frown creased his brow. Winchester placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Speak to me of your concerns.”

Samuel's expression was filled with uncertainty as he looked away, out over the sea.

“I have no memory of the man who raised us. I do not know what may befall when once we see his face. Perhaps...perhaps he does not wish to be found.” He turned apprehensive hazel eyes to Winchester.

“What then?”

The Corsair's hand gripped his sibling's shoulder tighter. “If such is the case, then we shall continue on as we always have.”

Samuel's answering smile was sad. “ 'Tis not favorable for anyone to be alone...least of all when the world has been placed in their hands.”

Winchester suddenly realized that the Commodore had been watching their interaction from his place further up the dock, and his brother's words caused a tight lump to rise to the base of his throat. He had no time to ponder what Samuel's words might mean for the both of them, however, as a tall, strapping African leaning against a pile of crates caught his eye. There was something about him that did not sit well with the Corsair, and Winchester stiffened as he saw the man was staring unflinchingly into his gaze.

For long moments, neither moved, and then the other man casually pushed off his post and walked down the dock. When he reached the road, he glanced over his shoulder pointedly.

Winchester's jaw tightened, and it was not until he felt Castiel's hand on his arm that he discerned he'd been following the other without thought.

“Do you know him?” the Commodore asked, and it was clear from the way he spoke that he was disturbed by his lover's encounter.

Winchester shook his head, still watching the man. It was quite obvious at this point that he was meant to pursue the fellow. “Nay. Yet he seems to be acquainted with me, and that right well.”

Castiel's eyes narrowed. “If you plan to make chase, I shall go with you.”

Surprising even himself, Winchester spoke quickly. “I will go alone.” At the Commodore's slightly alarmed look, he added, “I feel he draws me toward something that only I am meant to see.”

Castiel squeezed his hand tightly, his countenance unnerved. “Do what you must, but know the value of your blade.”

The Corsair only gave a nod, and the Commodore watched as he strode after the other man, soon disappearing from sight.

. . .

The cobblestones were hot from the afternoon sun under Winchester's boots as he quickly walked after the mysterious other man, who led him through the heavy crowds. Soon enough, however, they thinned out drastically, and the bustling street gave way to a much quieter path.

The hairs on the back of the Corsair's neck rose as he saw that his impromptu guide had all of a sudden vanished. A light breeze had begun, and Winchester paused.

Sure enough, another set of feet stopped immediately behind him, and before the Corsair could move to defend himself, a heavy chain had been looped around his neck.

Winchester flailed, and his hands came up to clutch at the iron links. As the makeshift noose was tightened further, black spots danced on the edges of his vision, and the evening sky above him began to fade out of sight.

A sudden single shot was heard close by, and a body dropped to the ground behind him. Drawing in ragged gulps of air, Winchester said hoarsely, “Who goes there?”

“One whose interest is in saving your life.” A pistol being replaced inside a belt reached Winchester's ears, and then a hand was extended toward him.

The Corsair took it and drew himself to full height, still fighting for breath. The man before him watched him closely, and Winchester felt an undeniable pull of some sort between them. Narrowing his eyes, he spoke sharply, chills racing down his spine.

“Have you seen a spirit? Why do you stare so?”

A sad smile crossed the other man's lips.

“You have grown. Yet I still know my own flesh and blood.”

Winchester froze, suddenly unable to breathe once more. It could not possibly be, and yet the truth was plainly there before him.

“Father.”

Tears rose immediately in John Winchester's eyes.

“It has been many seasons since I have heard that title,” he said quietly. “I have missed it.”

Fury, white-hot and uncontrollable, welled up inside of the Corsair at the words, and he let his fist fly in a fit of utter rage. John stumbled back, blood oozing from a split lower lip, and regarded the younger man with both surprise and reproach. But Winchester did not give him a chance to speak before the point of a blade was at his throat.

“Offer me a reason why I should not cut you from stem to stern and leave you for the ravens,” he bit out.

John's expression had gone cool. “It appears that saving your arse means nothing.”

“I did not ask you to step in,” Winchester growled, “especially after more than thirty years of hiding like the dog you are.”

“Oh, aye?” John's voice was soft, but dangerous. “Am I to believe that you knew your life was at risk?”

“I am familiar with chance,” the other man snarled, “and I do not fear death, however it may come.”

“Then 'tis plain I was borne not a son, but a fool,” John barked. “You and your crew have been watched since the moment the  _ Mary  _ arrived. 'Tis not safe here. Hoist sail and depart before first light.”

“And what does a man who abandoned his children and caused the death of his wife know of safety?” Winchester hissed, and adjusted his grip on the blade slightly, enough that a small drop of blood beaded on the other man's throat.

The words seemed to hit a nerve. John's eyes flashed as he replied, “You speak of circumstances which you do not know nor understand.”

“I know enough,” Winchester gritted, “and you are no more than a yellow jack, unfit for fatherhood or husbandry.”

John's hand tightened at his side. “Watch your tongue, boy.”

Winchester's lip curled. “ 'Tis better to watch your own. 'Tis not I that may receive the point of a cutlass through my lying throat.”

For a moment, neither moved nor spoke, and then John’s shoulders sagged as he sighed.

“ ‘Twas my hope that our first meeting would be far less spiteful, but do as you must.”

Indecision grew in Winchester’s eyes as John watched, and it was not long before he sheathed the weapon. His posture, however, remained stiff, as though expecting that a physical brawl would soon take place.

“ ‘Tis not my aim to hurt you,” John said quietly, and received a glare in return as his son folded his arms.

“ ‘Tis a shame you have already done so.”

The older man threw up his hands. “What can I say that will change your harsh view of me?” he asked, tone half-exasperated and half-grieved.

Winchester’s chin lifted, eyes glittering coldly. “ ‘Twould be wise to tell me the truth—all of it. I will stand for nothing less.”

John sighed wearily. “As you wish, though I will not do so without a tavern and an ale set before me.” He paused and waited.

Winchester hesitated, but said at last, “So be it. I will follow your lead.”

John only gave a nod.

. . .

Winchester remained wary as they settled into a secluded spot, his eyes constantly darting back and forth. It seemed that John had picked the loudest, most debauched place he could, and the Corsair would be damned if he let down his guard.

John, however, seemed quite calm as he drank, having relaxed against the rough wood of his chair as he watched Winchester’s unease.

“ ‘Tis no need to fear. No one will harm you.”

Winchester snorted. “I have told you once, I do not fear. Yet I find it inconceivable that such a crowd will see fit to leave well enough alone.”

“They understand the consequences if they do not,” John said casually, and before Winchester could inquire exactly what that meant, the older man set the pint down to lock eyes with his son. 

“What is it that you wish to know?”

Winchester held his gaze. “What possesses a man to leave his children to a cruel world so soon after the death of his wife?”

For the first time since they had arrived, John’s composure slipped. His throat worked as he replied, “If there had been another path, I would have taken it.”

“That answers nothing,” Winchester snapped. “I demand to know your reasoning for turning tail.”

“I loved your mother, boy,” John rasped, and swallowed deeply of his ale before continuing. “She knew what I was, and yet treated me no different than any other man. Her gentle soul held me fast even in my darkest hours.”

Despite his vow to brush off anything the other man said as more lies, Winchester had begun to listen, and his expression silently willed John to continue.

“I did not know the true depth of her devotion to me until a few months after your brother’s birth. You were both left in the care of a governess, while she accompanied me on what should have been a simple voyage. Instead, the ship was left ablaze in pieces in the Crown’s waters, and all aboard perished--except I. For five days and nights I clung to life, surviving only by the grace of God. When a merchant vessel came upon me, I took refuge with her crew.” John looked away. 

“When I discovered that the attack had been orchestrated by one Michael Novak, in his prime and eager to rid the seas of all manner of piracy--and that the men I sailed with were under his command--I did my duty as a brokenhearted widow.”

“You slaughtered them all.” Winchester’s voice was low, and John met his gaze once more without blinking. 

“Aye, in their beds. Every last one, including the captain.”   
Winchester seemed to struggle to speak. “I do not understand. Why were you beset? Surely Mother did not travel on a pirate vessel?”

“Nay.” John’s eyes were stormy with emotion. “The colors we flew were those of the Crown. The assault was naught but an attempt to destroy me. Novak never intended for Mary to die.”

A lump rose in Winchester’s throat at the knowledge that his mother had been no more than an innocent victim, caught in the crosshairs of one man’s quest for power and notoriety. It caused the rage he felt for the governor to turn into a bonfire of pure, unadulterated hatred. 

John swallowed thickly. His voice trembled.

“I could not face my sons again knowing that I had, however unwittingly, taken their mother from them for eternity, and so I fled. Word reached my ears months later that your governess had died of a fever, leaving both of you to the streets. Yet I still could not return.” He hung his head in shame. 

“Your assessment of me was correct. I am no more than a coward. I have failed to avenge the death of my wife, and abandoned my children.” He sighed, his voice mournful. “I beg your forgiveness, but I do not expect it.”

Winchester swallowed. The man before him was every bit as broken as his son, and the thought of causing him yet more misery sat heavily in the Corsair’s stomach. So much had been done to the both of them, and with the road ahead still long and hard, Winchester suddenly had no further appetite for destruction.

He held out a hand. “If the good Lord can absolve sins, I have no business withholding mercy.”

John choked out something that was between a sob and a word of thanks, and gripped that hand firmly, everything he would have said clear in his eyes.

Winchester allowed him to compose himself for some moments, and then spoke quietly.

“I am not the only child to whom you must disclose the events of the past.” He paused. “I fear that Samuel may have you on a pedestal of sorts. You must also tell him the truth--and be willing to accept any consequences doing so brings.”

“I swear to you that I shall endeavor to be a far better man and father from hence,” John replied softly. 

Winchester drank deeply from his as-yet-untouched cup. The combination of the day’s events and the desire to return to his ship, crew, and lover left him with the urge to crawl from his own skin.

John watched him shrewdly. “What troubles you?”

The Corsair waved him off, but the other man was not to be convinced. He raised his brow, staring hard at his son, and under such scrutiny, Winchester caved.

“ ‘Tis growing late, and the  _ Mary  _ awaits,” he admitted. “I have been away too long. Ca--the crew will be wanting her captain.” He coughed to cover his near-slip, but John did not buy it.

“What name were you about to speak?”

Winchester shifted uncomfortably, and John said sharply, “Out with it, boy. We cannot allow secrets to continue here.”

The younger man cleared his throat. “I have...found love.”

John smiled. “Well, is that all? It would seem congratulations are in order.”

Winchester suddenly seemed quite interested in the scarred wooden tabletop, and John’s smile faded as he realized that something of far greater importance was afoot. 

He did not have to wait long before his son spoke again, hesitatingly.

“I...do not speak of a woman.”

John shrugged, though he still felt a great unease. “Your preferences are no concern of mine.”

Winchester seemed to struggle to explain. “No, that is not…” His fingers drummed restlessly between them, until finally he blurted, “The man I have given my heart to has a brother, one that we would both love to see hang.”

John choked on his next swallow of liquor, spluttering and coughing. When he caught his breath, he demanded, “You have bedded Novak’s sibling? Are you mad?”


	18. Chapter 18

The Commodore jumped when a hand came down on his shoulder where he stood by the docks, barely able to contain a rather undignified yelp. His heart thundering, he turned.

Robert leaned on his wooden leg, his eyes kind. “Di’n’t mean t’ startle ya none.”

As his breathing slowed, Castiel spoke. “The only thing that startles me is the fact that the Corsair has not yet returned.”

The other man gave a slow nod, as though contemplating something. “Y’ thinkin’ he ran off on ya?”

Castiel swallowed tightly. He had indeed been ruminating on such a thing. The fact that Winchester still remained absent, hours after sunset and his decision to follow the mysterious African, had left the Commodore with fear in his heart. The possibilities of the Corsair’s whereabouts were endless, but Castiel refused to dwell on the most startling of prospects--that he had indeed met up with John Winchester, and in doing so had found himself in a trap that now left him waiting for the noose. 

Robert said gently, “He ain’t the kind t’ desert the ones he cares about th’ most. Sure as I know how t’ keep ya buzzards fed, he’ll come back.”

“And if he does not?” Castiel asked quietly. “We are both well aware of the fate that awaits a captured pirate. I--” He drew a breath. “My heart cannot stand to hear of his demise.”

“There ain’t nothin’ sayin’ he’ll be whisked off to Paradise anytime soon,” Robert replied sternly, “so don’t go an’ get all lathered up ‘bout it til ya know th’ truth.”

Castiel bowed his head, and in a softer tone, the cook said, “That boy loves ya more than his own life, Commodore. Ain’t nothin’ he wouldn’t do t’ keep ya safe and feelin’ cherished. It’s not in his nature to jus’ up and abandon th’ ones he’d die for. Jus’ stay calm an’ wait.”

Satisfied that he had said his piece, Robert turned and limped off. Castiel watched him go, praying that the man was not wrong--for if word came that Winchester had perished, the Commodore had no doubt he himself would not be long for this world.

. . .

The sun had barely risen when Balthazar stepped out onto the deck of the  _ Saber,  _ squinting angrily at the horizon as the first rays of light began to sear his vision.

“Good morning, sir.”

Northburn’s voice was carefully measured. Balthazar sighed, certain that he looked more like a derelict in love with the bottle than Vice Admiral of his vessel. Brusquely, he spoke.

“And the same to you, Commodore.” 

“If I may be so bold, sir, are you well? We have been concerned.” The words were framed in hesitation, and Balthazar met Northburn’s gaze, his voice low and stern.

“Do you question my ability to complete this mission?”

Northburn seemed uncomfortable. “No, sir, I do not. You are a fine commander. It is only--”

“Only, what?” Balthazar snapped, and the Commodore cleared his throat.

“There have been rumors amongst the crew, sir. I am only attempting to stave them off.”

“Would you care to elaborate on these rumors, Commodore?” Balthazar gritted through his teeth. “Or do you prefer to be demoted for insubordination?”

Northburn’s eyes flashed, and he drew himself up. “Your authority on this ship is absolute, sir, but you cannot hide your past.”

Balthazar’s hand drifted to his hip, where his sword rested. “Be careful, man. You do not know what you are saying. I will tolerate no mutiny on this vessel, and it shall be dealt with swiftly--whomever it begins with. My past is not the business of any man but I.”

Northburn watched him for a moment, and then spoke stiffly. “Forgive my errancy, sir. It seems I have overstepped my bounds.”

“Indeed,” Balthazar replied curtly, and glanced again at the horizon. “The day will soon begin in full, and I am sure you have other duties to attend to which do not include questioning your superior or his motives.” 

The meaning was clear, and the other officer turned without a word to walk away down the deck. Watching him go, Balthazar released a fist he had not realized he had made. Northburn was a good man and a competent officer, to be sure, but his words had struck home.

However hard he tried, Balthazar knew that sooner or later, he would need to face the fact that he was not simply on an excursion of his own making. He had been hired by his enemy to run down a pirate vessel that included his closest friend, and no matter how artfully the tale was spun, Balthazar was certain in his heart that Castiel could not possibly have turned on the Crown. It was simply unthinkable, and not in the other man’s nature. 

The fact that he had offered desperate, tearful prayers every night since leaving port, in hopes that he was not the one being misled, was something he continued to defiantly push to the back of his mind. 

Balthazar sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. All the wine in the known world could not erase the pain and guilt he felt.

. . .

Winchester watched as John set his cup on the table heavily, his eyes full of disbelief and contempt. The Corsair waited, knowing that the man would say his piece in due time.

He did not have to wait long.

“How is it possible that you have allowed your heart to be captured by such a one?” John spat. “Novak is a diabolical fiend, and yet you believe that his brother is any better than he?”

His son’s tone was cool as he replied. “Castiel is nothing like Michael. He is a gracious, loving gentleman that--”

John barked out a bitter laugh. “ ‘Gracious and loving’? A ‘gentleman’? You have been bewitched, boy.” The older pirate threw back the rest of his ale, and wiped his mouth with one hand as he shook his head. “I cannot conceive of what I am hearing.”

Winchester’s jaw tightened. “If you would only agree to meet him, perhaps your bias would depart.”

“Meet him? I would rather run him through, and thus ensure the Novak line has little chance of continuing.”

The Corsair’s expression darkened, and his hand curled into a fist. “That is something I will not permit.”

“Oh, aye? And I suppose you have someone in mind to stop me?” John growled. 

Winchester rose, emerald eyes turned the color of olives in his ire. “Aye, that I do. If I am forced to choose between you and Castiel, make no mistake whose life I will preserve, though ‘twould grieve me deeply.”

John sat back, studying his son. It was clear that the younger man had no intention of allowing his paramour to come to harm, regardless of the circumstances, and that was a trait that John could not help but admire. 

“I see that I cannot change your mind,” he sighed, and rose as well, tossing a few shillings between their cups. “Let us be off, then.”

Winchester stared hard at him. “And where is our destination?”

John raised an eyebrow. “By the gods, you cannot possibly be so thick.” Before Winchester could bristle at the remark, John added quietly, “I give you my word that I will form no further judgments until I make the acquaintance of this man you so obviously adore.”

Winchester paused, apparently trying to discern whether John was jesting. When he did not say anything more, the Corsair nodded slowly.

“Aye. Come, then, and I shall present to you Castiel, my crew, and your second son.”

. . .

A shout from the upper decks of the  _ Mary  _ made Castiel’s heart leap into his throat as he ran toward the sound. The rest of the crew, Samuel included, were crowding near the rails, pointing and peering down the docks into the gathering dusk. The Commodore sent up a silent, frantic prayer that nothing sinister or melancholy was afoot.

“Aye, men! What do you see?”

The voice was familiar, and Castiel immediately raced down the gangplank, throwing himself into Winchester’s arms without a second thought. The Corsair’s hands threaded through his hair, and he kissed him gently amidst the good-natured catcalls of his crew. When they broke apart, the Commodore murmured, “I did not believe that I would see your face again.”

Winchester’s fingers curled around Castiel’s own, brushing against the ring on his lover’s hand. “My oath holds true,” he said softly, and Castiel flushed with pleasure. The sight was both endearing and somehow arousing at the same time, and Winchester found he could not remove his gaze from the other man’s countenance.

“It seems that you have secured a fine mate for yourself.”

Winchester turned, and Castiel looked on as a taller man with graying hair and beard stood nearby, amusement in his eyes. The Corsair cleared his throat. 

“Father, this is Castiel Novak, my intended.”

Castiel took the hand that John offered to him, noting how firm and strong a grip the other man had. His hands were calloused like his son’s, indicative of a lifetime spent at sea, and his eyes seemed to bore directly into the Commodore’s soul. Castiel stared back without apprehension, and at last John chuckled.

“He is a bold one, boy. Your personalities are evenly matched.”

Winchester would have spoken, but all became quiet suddenly as Samuel slowly approached the trio, his every move cautious and guarded. By the time he reached the small group, it was clear that John was restraining himself from reaching out to his youngest son.

Samuel’s throat worked violently, but instead of speaking, he drew back a fist and landed a decisive blow to John’s jaw.

“Samuel!” Winchester reprimanded, but John held up a hand, rubbing at a quickly blossoming bruise on his chin.

“ ‘Tis not the first time I have been hit today,” he remarked ruefully, “though I had hoped it would be the last.”

The Corsair stepped between the two men quickly, as Samuel appeared ready to strike John again. “Enough,” he said firmly. “Grant him the chance to explain himself, brother. He is owed at least that.”

Samuel replied sharply, “You intend to welcome him aboard, then?”

“Aye,” Winchester replied, “if ‘tis no trouble.” His tone left no room for argument, and Samuel stared hard at John.

“You will tell all.” It was not a request, and John spoke.

“Aye, I shall.” He paused, and then added softly, “I pray you are able to find forgiveness in your heart. I am without excuse, yet I will rectify such evils, if I am allowed.”

Samuel swallowed tightly, his eyes slightly damp and his voice hoarse. “I would sorely desire that.”

“ ‘Tis settled, then,” Winchester broke in, and caught Castiel’s hand in his own once more, squeezing it lightly. The Commodore leaned into the Corsair’s side, and could not help but notice how John’s eyes lingered on them, a trace of sorrow briefly surfacing in their depths. It had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, however, and Castiel gripped Winchester’s hand tighter. He knew the Fates were under no obligation to preserve any of them.


	19. Chapter 19

John found himself on the main deck late that evening, watching as Castiel and his son danced to a merry tune supplied by a few fiddles and pipes, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It was quite obvious that the two were meant for each other, and a sharp pang of regret and loneliness swept through the elder Corsair. He had experienced such a love once, and all had been stolen from him.

“Maybe ya should be thinkin’ ‘bout what ya have now, ‘stead of dwellin’ on the past, Corsair.”

Abruptly, John turned to face the owner of the voice. A heavily bearded man with a missing leg leaned against the rail, his eyes fixed on the corner of the ship. As John followed the other man’s line of sight, he saw that Winchester and his beloved had slipped into the shadows, speaking quietly. While he watched, he was privy to a tender kiss. A lump rose in his throat, and he looked away.

“What frightens ya more--the fact that ya might lose ‘em, or that ya spent so much time battlin’ everyone an’ everythin’ that ya don’ know how to stop fightin’?”

John drew a quiet breath and met the other man’s gaze. “You presume much regarding someone you do not know.”

“Don’ have ta presume,” was the swift reply. “ ‘Tis written all over yer face.” He shrugged, and said carefully, “Pain and death don’ show partiality, ya know. They affect whoever the hell they choose. But that don’ mean we gotta give up an’ refuse to move forward. Lots a’good in this world, Corsair. Ya jus’ gotta look fer it.”

With that, the other man steadied himself on his good foot and slowly hobbled away, leaving John to weigh his words.

. . .

“Hush, milady,” the maid soothed, as Anna struggled with yet another bout of coughing. The entirety of her frail body was wracked by tremors, her once-beautiful long red hair lying in a tangled mess upon the damp pillows.    
“Where is Castiel?” Anna asked hoarsely, foamy blood flecking the corners of her mouth. Gently, the other woman wiped it away.

“Don’t trouble yourself, milady. You must save your strength. Soon you will be well.”   
It pained her to say it, for she knew that there was no hope of recovery for her sweet, gentle charge. Still, she continued to repeat the falsehood the Governor had ordered her to speak.

Anna let out a laugh that sounded more like a rattle. “Cease to patronize me, Prudence,” she croaked. “We are both aware that I shall not live to see my twenty-ninth birthday.” The beginnings of another brutal cough began in her lungs. “Neither am I a fool. Michael is hiding something from me.”   
Prudence did not answer, carefully adjusting the blankets around Anna’s body. She did not have the luxury of telling the truth, and said only, after a few moments of silence, “I must fetch some clean water and towels, milady. I shall return shortly.” 

She curtsied low, gathering what had been used and exiting. She needn’t have bothered to be so quiet; upon glancing back, Prudence saw that Anna had fallen asleep from exhaustion.

Once the door had been shut, Prudence leaned her back against it, closing her eyes briefly. It was a struggle to continue to tend to a dying woman, but even more of a difficult task to have no choice except to lie to her face.

With a deep sigh, the maid continued down the hall to the linen supply closet. As she passed a partly open door on the right, she heard two male voices. One was that of the Governor; the other belonged to a young male.

“You have your orders. Carry them out,” Michael growled.

“But, sir,” was the hesitant reply, “she is your flesh and blood. Surely you do not mean to--”

“Have I stuttered?” Michael snapped, followed by what sounded very much like a slap. “Do as you are told, or else you shall suffer the consequences!”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied meekly, and unwilling to discover what would happen should she be caught eavesdropping, Prudence resumed her errand. Hurried footsteps beside her made her turn.

A lad of no more than fourteen sent her a guilty glance, and Prudence frowned, her heart quickening. There was something very wrong, and she called out softly, “Is all well?”

“Yes, miss,” the boy answered quietly, but his eyes told a far different story. Against her better judgment, she dropped the linens at her feet, approaching him slowly lest he run. 

“Lies do not become such a young man,” she said, and the youth stumbled back, swallowing hard, his expression filled with terror. Prudence reached out and caught his sleeve. He jerked in her grip, and she wound her fingers tighter in the rough material of his garment.

“Please,” she murmured. “If there is evil about, I would know.”

Trembling, he leaned closer, and what he whispered in her ear made Prudence fight back a gasp.

“ It’s in regards to Milady, miss...Lord Novak wishes to poison her.”

. . .

Castiel tried in vain to slow his breathing as Winchester held him down lightly upon his sheets, lips trailing over his collarbone and throat. The Corsair had made clear his intentions in the Commodore’s ear during their dancing, and Castiel had been hard pressed to wait until they were alone.

“You are beautiful,” Winchester murmured. "Others may have desired you, yet it is I that has the gift of keeping you in my bed."

Castiel smiled, threading their fingers together. "I daresay that you are rather pompous about this fact."

Winchester chuckled. "Aye, and I intend to remind others of it as often as is necessary." He rolled them over, gently trailing cool hands down Castiel's spine. 

The Commodore gazed down at him, and Winchester murmured, "Your eyes alone could charm the most base and evil of men."

When he paused, seeming to be troubled, Castiel frowned. "I hope that you do not speak of yourself."

The Corsair smiled bitterly. "I have done many things in my lifetime, and none are admirable."

"The measure of a man is not determined by his deeds, but by his heart," Castiel replied. "I did not give myself to you without knowledge of your past."

"And it does not disturb you that the man whom you so adore is a scoundrel and a beast?"

Castiel shook his head in exasperation. “Your choice to continuously berate yourself is something that will forever draw my ire.”   
A ghost of a smile crossed Winchester’s lips. “And yet I still own your heart.”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted, and subsequently ended the conversation by kissing the Corsair deeply.

Winchester sighed against his lips as he quickly took charge. Castiel shuddered when the other man’s fingers began to wander, and he arched against the press of them, gentle yet insistent, at his backside. A feverish heat had begun to consume him, and he rocked down hard against the pirate’s touch, unable to contain a soft moan as he did so.

Winchester’s eyes darkened with arousal, his breathing uneven with excitement as he slowly yet surely drove his lover to madness. Castiel writhed above him, throat working with the urge to cry out, and hissed through his teeth when Winchester’s calloused hand closed around his already erect member. He spread his legs as much as he could, begging silently for his lover to fill him.

Winchester did not disappoint, and groaned in satisfaction at how easily the Commodore’s body welcomed him into its warmth. Castiel gasped and met the Corsair thrust for thrust, the sounds of their furious lovemaking filling the cabin.

It was Winchester who broke first, descending into a desperate litany of oaths and curses. His teeth sank into Castiel’s shoulder, and the Commodore keened, his seed spilling across their bellies as he rode out his orgasm. 

His limbs trembling violently, Winchester collapsed against the pillows. Castiel slid down the Corsair’s body, wincing at the stickiness between them, and laid his head against Winchester’s chest. He could hear the other man’s heart pounding erratically beneath his ear, and began to gently draw patterns across his ribs.

After a moment, Winchester lightly caught his wrist, bringing Castiel’s hand to his mouth and kissing each fingertip as he murmured, “Rest with me awhile.”   
Castiel looked up at him, puzzled. “You presume I have anywhere else that I plan to be?”

Winchester smiled half-heartedly. “One can never tell. The gods do not listen to the whims of man.”

Now, the Commodore rose to one elbow, staring hard into saddened green eyes. He had a fair idea of what was running through the Corsair’s mind, and spoke sternly.

“It shall do no good to fear what may come. It is not clear that the life of Mary and John is to be ours.” In a softer tone, Castiel added, “Do not give Fate a reason to turn on us.”

“I shall not lose you. Were it necessary to give my life in order that you might keep yours, I would gladly follow Death wherever it takes me.” Winchester swallowed. “I could not bear if it our love led to your noose.”

“My choice has been made of my own volition,” Castiel replied quietly, “and I shall stand by it. If that is indeed my end, I will face it with pride.” He leaned forward and laid a gentle kiss to the Corsair’s jaw. “I loved you from the first, and I shall love you ‘til the last.”

Winchester was helpless in the face of such devotion, and he pulled the Commodore close, breathing deeply of his scent as he whispered, “May the gods forgive me, Castiel, I cannot let you go.”

. . .

“Sir, the  _ Bloody Mary  _ is mere hours from our vessel. What is your plan of action?”

Balthazar looked up wearily at Northburn, his eyes bloodshot. It was clear that he had been drinking yet again, but the Commodore made no mention of it. He chose instead to wait patiently for an answer, hands folded behind his back.

After a moment, Balthazar stood, albeit somewhat shakily. “Hours, you say?”

“Yes, sir. They have docked at New Providence, and it appears that they are not prepared for battle.” Northburn’s mouth twisted distastefully. “No doubt they are engaging in...salacious activities that have diverted their attention elsewhere.”   
Balthazar massaged the bridge of his nose, trying in vain to stem a massive headache. “Are we prepared to engage, Commodore?”

“Yes, sir. The men are ready and willing, and all has been put in place. They wait only for your word.”

A tight lump formed in Balthazar’s throat. Sending up a silent prayer that he would one day be forgiven for what he was about to do, he spoke quietly.

“Remain on our current heading, Commodore, and when we reach them, let loose the full fury of the Royal Navy.”

  
  
  



	20. Chapter 20

John awoke from a violent dream with a quiet gasp, cold sweat beading on his brow. The ship was nearly silent, the crew resting around him. 

Easing out of his bed, he slipped up the stairs to the main deck. A chill breeze sent goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin, and he shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. All seemed well, yet years at sea had taught the man that nothing was ever as it appeared. As surely as he lived, there would be trouble this night.

John approached the man on watch, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I shall take over from here.”

The pirate was evidently surprised, yet he did not question the order, simply stifling a yawn and shuffling off down the deck. John watched him go, and when he had disappeared below, the elder Corsair quickly stepped to the rail, peering out at the darkened horizon for a few tense minutes. When there was no sign of evil afoot, he breathed a soft sigh. Perhaps he was only overreacting.

As he turned, movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and there, he saw what he had feared from the first.

John leapt from the upper deck, catching hold of the  _ Mary _ ’s bell and pulling the rope hard.

. . .

Castiel jumped at the harsh clanging sound above their heads, finding that Winchester was already struggling into his breeches. He had forsaken his tunic, and Castiel’s heartbeat quickened as he realized what the racket meant.

“Make haste,” Winchester urged, throwing Castiel his clothes as the frantic shouts and din of the crew were heard outside the door. “That noise can mean one thing only.”

Winchester pulled Castiel with him up the stairs. When they emerged onto the deck, the Corsair saw John at the bell’s rope, tugging at it with all of his might. Castiel watched as John’s eyes landed on them both, and he did not have to hear the words the elder pirate shouted to know exactly what was happening. The Crown’s vessels closing in on them were answer enough. He turned to his lover, whose jaw was set tight.

“Novak,” he spat through clenched teeth. “So the bastard has come for us.”

Samuel dashed toward them then, his sleeves flapping over his hands as he struggled into his tunic. It would have been comical had the situation not been so dire.

“There are five ships,” he said breathlessly, and Castiel closed his eyes.  _ Heaven help them. _ They could not possibly, in the dead of night, outrun nor survive that amount of might and firepower. One, perhaps two vessels, yes, but five? Never.

John had come to stand beside them all, his eyes filled with cold hatred. The crew’s furious orders rang out around them as they readied guns and weaponry, and the elder Corsair spoke.

“There will be much blood spilled tonight.”   
Winchester nodded grimly. “Aye.”

Castiel looked over his shoulder at the town, which slumbered on behind them, unaware of the danger lurking just offshore. “What of the inhabitants?” he asked, and Winchester turned to him, his expression grave.

“There is nothing we can do.”

The Commodore stared at him in shock. “What?”

“We cannot fight a battle on two separate fronts,” Winchester explained gently, but Castiel stepped back, shaking his head. 

“You propose to leave them all to their fate? Are we truly such monsters?”

“What would you have us do?” Samuel asked quietly, and Castiel swallowed hard, not knowing the answer.

“Orders, Captain!” one of the crew shouted. “They’re nearly upon us!” 

Before Winchester could reply, an unholy noise erupted around them, and where other pirate vessels had sat silently before, they suddenly came to life with the hollers of their men. As the three watched in shock, guns were lowered and lamps lit. 

“Aye, Winchester! How goes it?”

The baying came from a large pirate who was hanging over the rail of the ship next to them, his wild black hair and beard intertwined with gold beads and what appeared to be pieces of bone. He grinned, revealing sharp white teeth.

“How is this possible?” Winchester returned, and the other man threw back his head and roared with manic laughter.

“We all hate the Crown, boy! You didn’t possibly think you’d get to have all the fun, now, did you?”

. . . 

“Sir, it appears that Winchester has received aid. We face more than one ship.”

Balthazar growled. “I have a working set of eyes, Northburn!” Attempting to get ahold of himself, he added sharply, “It is no matter. The might of the Crown cannot be matched. We will succeed in our endeavor.” He refused to dwell on the fact that killing his best friend did, indeed, matter very much.

Northburn gave a nod, and though he remained calm outwardly, Balthazar could hear the cold eagerness in his voice. “These dastardly men shall know the fury of steel and gunsmoke tonight, sir. When all is over, you shall be commended highly.”

“Indeed,” Balthazar murmured, and watched the  _ Mary _ closely as she readied herself for battle.  _ Castiel, my dear friend, if you are on that vessel, run. Run, and do not look back. _

“Your orders, sir?” Northburn pressed, and Balthazar turned away to hide the sudden, bitter tears that rose to his eyes. 

“Bring them all to ruin.”

  
  
  



	21. Chapter 21

Her mind reeling, Prudence finished her tasks at hand, not willing that Anna should be left alone for too long. The Governor’s deplorable decision to send his own sister into the arms of angels before her time was something that the young maid could not allow. Though she knew what she was planning to attempt was nothing short of madness, the alternative was unacceptable. 

Quietly, she returned to the young lady’s room, her heart tightening painfully when she saw that Anna still had not awoken. Placing the towels and water by the bedside, she reached out and carefully touched the other woman’s shoulder.

Anna twitched, her eyes fluttering open and glazed over with sickness. A crooked smile crossed her lips upon noticing the maid, but before she could say anything, Prudence hurried to the door and shut it tight. Anna watched, uncomprehending, and Prudence returned to her side, sliding an arm around her shoulders gently. 

“You must rise, milady.”

Anna blinked in surprise. Before she could question what exactly was happening, Prudence spelled it out for her plainly.

“Your brother’s aim is to poison you, milady, and he has already ordered a servant boy to do the job,” she said quietly, and Anna’s eyes widened in shock and fear. Prudence knew that now, more than ever, she had to be brave and fierce despite her lowly station, and pushed, “We must remove you from the house. Is there another way out?”

Anna struggled to a sitting position with Prudence’s help, and weakly pointed to a door that, in all her time with the Novaks, Prudence had never noticed. She quickly realized why, as it was disguised to look like part of the wall, having been painted the same elegant color as the wallpaper.

“We must get you to safety, before the Governor carries out his plan,” the maid urged, but Anna shook her head.

“Once I am away from Michael, what am I to do?” Anna questioned in a whisper. “I have no recourse.”

Prudence’s jaw set. “I know of those who would gladly help, with no loyalty to the Governor or the Crown.”

“Who?” Anna asked, and felt her heart leap into her throat at the reply.

“Pirates, milady.”

. . .

Winchester steadied himself on the deck as the first ship in the squadron aimed her guns, drawing his sword. His free hand sought Castiel’s, and the Commodore squeezed it tightly.

“Whatever befall,” Winchester murmured, his gaze fixed on his lover’s face, “I will find you, though I pillage all of Hell to return to your arms.”

Desperately, Castiel kissed his soft lips, knowing full well that it could be the last time he did so. “You have all of me, from this moment until my death.”

“They’ve come about!” John’s shout echoed amidst the cacophony of men’s voices, and Winchester gave Castiel the barest touch upon his cheek, his eyes speaking volumes.

“I know,” the Commodore replied in a whisper, and then there was only chaos.

. . . 

Balthazar plunged his sword into the throat of a pirate closest to him, ignoring the fine blood spray that coated his jacket as he pulled a pistol from his waistband and sunk a bullet deep into the skull of another would-be assailant. He had lost count of how many men he had sent to the grave, and despite the fact that he knew their deaths would haunt him until he passed from this life to the next, he gave thanks that none of them had been Castiel.

When next he turned, he found himself face to face with the one man he hated above all else.

Winchester’s eyes were filled with contempt as he took in Balthazar’s appearance. “I see that you have spent time licking Michael’s boots. Tell me, how much did it cost you to give up your soul after deserting Castiel?”

Bile rose in Balthazar’s throat. The words had struck too close to home, and he spat at Winchester’s feet. “Step aside or die, pig.”

“If you cross blades with me, I fear it will be your end. I shall not spare you, even for Castiel.”

Balthazar’s expression was cold as ice. “You do not deserve the man. I would rather see him grieve for the remainder of his life than be a prisoner in your bed.” 

“A prisoner?” Winchester chuckled darkly. “It appears that you have been severely misled. How typical for a man who cannot think for himself.”

Gritting his teeth, Balthazar lunged forward and pressed the barrel of the pistol between his enemy’s eyes as the screams of the dying echoed all around them. “Perhaps I should show you the exact nature of my ability to  _ think for myself _ .”

“No!”

The soft cry was unmistakable, and Balthazar turned his head. He did not know whether to laugh or cry in relief at the sight of Castiel. He was certain the shock showed on his face, however, when his friend stepped between them.

“Don’t. Balthazar, I beg you.”

Balthazar could hardly believe what he was hearing. How was it possible that the man he had served alongside, reputed for his hatred for piracy and lawlessness, was now defending the one man they had both sworn to destroy?

“Castiel,” he breathed. “What have you done?”

The Commodore’s eyes were sad, and yet his resolve remained firm as he laid a hand on the pistol, pushing it away from his lover. His words broke Balthazar’s heart in two.

“Dean Winchester and I have bound ourselves to one another. I cannot return to what once was,” he replied softly, and it was then that Balthazar noticed the gleaming band on his ring finger. His world tilted on its axis.

“How?” he gasped. “This is treason!”

Castiel swallowed hard. “I did not expect you to understand.”

Behind him, Balthazar heard the telltale rallying cries of his men boarding the vessel, and he made a decision. 

“My Commodore will not allow this,” he said urgently. “Northburn will see you dead, Winchester, and you shall not escape his justice either, Castiel. Michael did not send me on this devilish errand to return empty-handed.”

Castiel gasped at the new information, but before he could speak, Winchester caught hold of the pistol’s barrel and pointed it at his heart, his finger on the trigger. His eyes were clear and calm.

“Then it seems you have a duty to perform, Admiral, one way or the other.”

Balthazar’s throat worked with emotion, and Castiel stared at his friend, now so lost and unsure. “Please,” he said sorrowfully. “Do not allow my brother to place a wedge between us, not like this.”

Balthazar glanced over his shoulder, from whence Northburn had begun to advance upon seeing his superior in need of assistance. He met Castiel’s eyes.

“Forgive me, Cassie.”

Castiel’s eyes widened at the familiar nickname, not used in so long. Before anyone could stop him, the other man had put the pistol to his temple and fired.

Castiel let out a horrified scream as Balthazar fell lifelessly to the deck, and dropped to his knees beside his rapidly cooling body.

“No,” he sobbed. “Oh, Balthazar, what have you done?”

“The only thing that would save him, you fool.” 

Northburn’s voice behind him made Castiel turn, and then, as the butt of the Commodore’s sword collided with his skull, everything turned to black.

  
  



	22. Chapter 22

Castiel woke slowly, his head swimming and a coppery taste in his mouth. As he lifted a hand to gingerly touch a large bump on his scalp, something cold and metal cut into his wrist. It drove away all remaining weakness of mind immediately, and Castiel’s heart skipped as he realized that he was in a small cell, chained hand and foot to the concrete wall. 

_ Northburn.  _ No doubt the man had risen in rank due to Balthazar’s untimely death, and had subsequently ordered everyone on board the  _ Bloody Mary  _ and each aiding pirate vessel to be shipped off for the noose.

At the thought of his friend, nausea overcame Castiel, and he bowed his head, tears falling unchecked. The man had sacrificed himself in an attempt to save them all, and instead, had left the Commodore with yet more guilt.

“Aye, is anyone in that there cell?”

Castiel raised his head immediately, crawling over to the bars. A small chunk of concrete had broken off from the southwest corner, which afforded a hole to look through. As he peered into the area, the Commodore saw a cell similar to his own. Leaning against the opposite wall was none other than Bloody Robert. Calmly, the cook raised an eyebrow.

“Sure takes ya an ungodly time t’open yer mouth and say how d’ ya do. Quit gawkin’. We’ve got work t’do.”

“I...what? How are we to accomplish anything, chained and cornered as we are?”

Robert snorted. “Any man can be bought fer the right price.”

A noise at his door made Castiel turn with a start, and on the other side, he saw a guard holding a large ring of keys. Castiel blinked, and the man smiled slowly, jingling the objects.

The Commodore let out a laugh. “Oh, Robert, you never cease to amaze me.”

“Don’ be thinkin’ o’ thankin’ me yet,” the pirate replied gruffly. “Yer paramour is on th’ other side o’ this here prison, and they aim to swing him off first as a lesson t’ everyone, at noon sharp. If we don’ get outta here, yer gonna meet him some other way--and I’d rather not think ‘bout that particular option.”

_ Dean,  _ Castiel thought, and watched carefully as the guard opened the door, kneeling to work on unlocking the chains at his feet, then wrists.  _ Fight on, my love. Soon you shall be free--and God willing, so shall we all. _

. . . 

“It’s quite irritating how you manage to hold your tongue,” Northburn remarked casually, as John stood on trembling legs at the post, his breathing ragged and his back laced with bloody lines. “That must have been...six stripes, was it?” He looked at his comrade for confirmation, who smiled coldly. 

“Seven, sir.”

“Ah, I see.” Northburn turned to examine a pile of items beside him on a low table that John could not see, humming quietly to himself. When he straightened up and turned, the elder Corsair swallowed. Northburn noticed it and smirked, advancing slowly with a red-hot poker.

“This will all end,” he said soothingly, “as soon as you renounce your ways of piracy.”

The heat from the torturous instrument was close enough to singe John’s arm hairs, yet he did not speak. To turn his back on a life at sea was to turn his back on his sons, and John refused to do so again.

Northburn sighed at his lack of cooperation. “I see that we shall never come to an agreement like this,” he mocked sadly, and moved forward.

John gritted his teeth as the tip of the sizzling poker touched his chest, yet he refused to make a sound. Northburn chuckled, his eyes alight with a dark merriment.

“Just as I thought. It will take more than this to break you.”

Sweat borne of pain pooling in the hollow of his throat, John croaked, “I shall never surrender. As long as I draw breath, I will be a scourge to the Crown--I, and all who detest your Governor’s methods.”

The smile faded from Northburn’s face, and he said sharply, “Indeed? It appears that you do not know the true meaning of the word.”   
Before John had time to question what, exactly, the man meant, the sounds of struggling and shouting were heard down the corridor. Another of Northburn’s officers came into view, and the one whom he dragged along made John’s heart lodge in his throat.

“This one is a menace, sir,” the officer snapped, and Northburn clicked his tongue.

“No matter, Ivies. He will soon serve a greater purpose. Bring him forth.”

With much difficulty, the officer did as he was told, and Northburn tilted the younger Winchester’s chin up with the hilt of his sword, his expression hard as flint.

“You will either save the life of your men by giving up your own, or you shall perish in like manner as they.”

John noted that Winchester had not yet noticed him, and prayed it would stay that way. Pride filled him when Dean spat heavily in Northburn’s face. 

“Go dance with your devils in Hell,” he growled.

Carefully wiping the spittle from his face with a kerchief, Northburn said sharply, “Perhaps you prefer to watch as I tear this one limb from limb?”

Ivies spun Winchester around, and the fear in Dean’s eyes at the sight of John nearly broke the elder Corsair’s heart. 

“No,” Winchester whispered. 

Northburn looked between the two of them, not understanding, and Ivies supplied quietly, “They are blood, sir--father and son.”

John closed his eyes, feeling utterly defeated as Northburn began to laugh.

“Are they, now?” the Admiral replied, sounding far too gleeful about the prospect. “Well, then, it seems that I do not have to mete out judgment after all.”

Reaching down, he picked up a thick whip and held it out to Winchester, his gaze frozen. The meaning was clear, and Dean swallowed thickly, shaking his head as he refused to take the weapon.

“Shall I do it, then?” Northburn demanded in fury, and stalked over to John, raising it aloft.

“Stop!”

Dean’s pleading cry stayed the Admiral’s hand, who raised an eyebrow at the other man. Winchester added in a whisper, “Please. I...I beg of you.”

Once more, Northburn handed the whip over, and this time, Dean’s fingers closed around the handle. Ivies released him, and slowly, Winchester approached his sire.

“You will administer twenty lashes,” Northburn ordered Winchester, and Ivies turned to his superior, surprised.

“Twenty, sir? The limit is currently ten lashes. Any more is liable to kill a man.”

“I said twenty, Ivies. Perhaps you care to join this ruffian’s punishment if you disagree?” he snapped, and hastily, Ivies backed down.

“Don’t fret,” John tried to assure his heartbroken son.

Winchester tried to speak, but no words would come. How could he do such a thing?

“You must,” John replied, and Winchester realized he had spoken the words aloud. John’s own eyes glistened as he said quietly, “My heart was yours ere I saw your infant face. Never doubt the validity of my love for you.” 

Tears spilled hotly down Winchester’s anguished countenance. “Forgive me,” he begged, and John smiled sadly. 

“Your conscience is clean, boy.” His lips trembling, John added softly, “Save him, my son. Save them all.”

A wrecked sob wrenched its way out of Winchester’s lips, and Northburn hissed, “Get on with it, or I will.”

His eyes closed tightly, Winchester swung the whip downward. John never felt the pain.

. . . 

As Castiel hurriedly crossed through the prison with the guard, Robert hobbling behind as quickly as he could, an ungodly wail echoed throughout the halls. The Commodore froze, his heart in his throat. He would know that voice anywhere, and it caused him to fear immensely. 

“Damn and blast,” Robert swore violently. “That’s--”

“Dean,” Castiel breathed, and gave the guard before them a pleading look. “We haven’t much time.”

As they came around a corner, the other man pointed to a few rows of cells just ahead of them. Castiel stopped, holding out his hand.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Your willingness to face retribution for our sakes is not something I will soon forget.”

The man shook his head and pointed again, this time to his mouth, making a sawing motion. Castiel felt nauseous as Robert spoke.

“Ain’t much more harsh things they can do t’ someone’s as lost his tongue, boy.”

“My brother is truly a monster,” the Commodore said thickly, and Robert replied, “Be that as it may, we can’t stop ‘im standin’ here.”

Composing himself, Castiel gave a nod to the guard and turned away. He could not afford to dwell on Michael’s insanity. Their task at hand was far more important, and Castiel's feet carried him swiftly to the furthest of the cells.

What he found when he reached it made him rock back on his heels in shock.

. . .

Winchester looked up blankly as the cell door opened, his face pale as he cradled John in his arms. The elder Corsair was bloodied and far too still, and Castiel felt lightheaded at the implication.

“I had no choice…” Winchester whispered brokenly, as his fingers ghosted through John’s matted locks. His body shook as he pulled the other man closer, beginning to weep once more. The sounds he made were helpless and shattered, and Castiel felt a harsh lump force its way into his throat.

“What have I done?” Winchester begged, his emerald eyes awash with tears. “ _ What have I done? _ ”

Castiel knelt beside them, gently touching the elder Corsair’s wrist. For a moment, the Commodore held his breath, but the faintest fluttering beneath his fingertips gave him renewed hope. Carefully, he lifted Winchester’s chin. 

“He is alive,” he said quietly, and Winchester fell forward, his body heaving with great sobs of relief. Robert cleared his throat then, and Castiel met his urgent gaze. 

“I don’ mean t’ be rude, but we’d best be gettin’ outta here. Won’t be long now ‘fore it’s found out we’re gone with no permission from them.”

Winchester looked down at John, his expression one of despair. “How are we to escape when he is--”

“You shan’t be carrying me out, boy, so get me up.” 

John’s voice was weak and soft, but the determination in it had not faded. His throat working with unspoken emotions, Winchester nodded to Castiel, and they pulled John to his feet in one smooth motion. The elder Corsair stumbled and nearly collapsed, but he quickly righted himself.

“We must hurry,” he rasped. “Northburn and his damned companions will be scouring this prison, and should they find us still here, it will be our end.”

With the aid of Castiel, Robert, and his son, John made it to the hallway, and there he stood tall despite the obvious pain he was in. 

His eyes filled with fire at the sounds of bellowing, and Robert muttered, “That’ll be th’ cav'l'ry.”

John turned to face his son. “Take the Commodore and go. Robert and I will hold them at bay.”

“No,” Winchester pleaded. “I nearly lost you once. I cannot bear to allow it again.”

“Do as I say. You above all know what Michael and his men are capable of,” John replied firmly, and then, as Winchester swallowed tightly, John cupped his face in his hands lovingly, brushing his thumbs across Winchester’s cheekbones. 

“I love you, boy,” he croaked. “Allow me this chance to turn my sins to right.”

The sounds of swords clanging and men shouting grew closer, and John gave his son a small shove towards a set of stairs Castiel had not noticed until that moment.    
“GO!”

With one last, desperate glance, Winchester pulled Castiel with him into the bright sunlight, and they fled.

  
  
  
  
  



	23. Chapter 23

Prudence knew not what had come over her, but she thanked the good Lord that He had given her strength and courage for this moment as she guided Anna down a quiet, dim passageway under the house. The other woman was trembling with fever, and her steps were unsure, but she followed the maid without question, trusting that she would be saved. Prudence prayed silently that trust would not be misplaced.

It was with great relief that Prudence saw the light spilling from the end of the tunnel, and spoke in a hushed whisper, knowing that such still air could carry even the faintest of sounds.

“We have almost reached the end, milady. From this moment, you shall be free.”

Anna nodded feebly, her face as pale as milk, and Prudence gently guided her forward. Anna gasped as her feet touched water, but the maid urged her onward. It was soon clear to her that Prudence’s way out had led directly underneath the docks, and Anna swallowed hard as she saw the ships at anchor. She had not forgotten the woman’s words, and could not stop herself from shivering. It had little to do with her illness, and far more to do with the thought of meeting the nefarious sea raiders.

“Where are we going?” Anna asked, and Prudence turned to face her. “The prison, milady.”   
“The prison?” Anna gasped. She could not possibly have heard correctly. “Prudence, all manner of evil men are kept there! Should we encounter them--”

“Your brother is there,” Prudence replied quietly, watching as Anna’s eyes widened, and shook her head to stave off any questions. “Please trust me, milady.”

Anna hesitated, but the earnest look the maid gave her, and her own dire condition, made her stop. There was no other choice; there never had been, and she allowed Prudence to pull her forward once more.

. . .

Michael tapped impatiently on his sister’s door for the second time, letting out an irritated sigh. It had never taken the maid this long to answer before, and he had other matters that needed his immediate attention--such as the capture of the notorious Corsair Winchester, Castiel, and their band of heathens by Northburn. The other man deserved a jump in pay and a commendation, and the others were soon to be swung off. He could not waste moments waiting.

“Prudence,” he said sharply. “Open this door.”

When there was no reply, Michael snarled, “Open it, I say!”

At the silence that continued to greet him, the Governor drew back with his foot and kicked the wood. It gave and swung inward, and Michael strode forward.

“Damn you, woman, when I call, you are to answer! Do not think that I will not--”

Michael’s eyes narrowed in the dark room, and then, as they lit upon the empty bed, he froze. 

“Anna?”

Nearly catapulting himself around the corner in his worry and anger, Michael paused as he felt a draft. Turning, he bared his teeth in rage as he saw the partly open door to the passage that led below the house.

_ You shall pay for this, wench,  _ he thought furiously in Prudence’s general direction.  _ I do not take disloyalty lightly. _

. . .

Winchester threw them behind a pillar just before two officers passed by, their guns perched on their shoulders as they circled the ramparts, talking in low tones. The Corsair put a finger to his lips, and Castiel reached for him frantically before he could do something monumentally stupid.

His fingers touched only air, and the Commodore watched in horror as Winchester casually strolled up behind the two.

“A bright morning to you, men. Tell me, do you always allow your choice prisoners to walk about freely?”

With a shout, they turned, fumbling to aim their guns. Winchester easily sidestepped the wild swing one of the officers took at him with the butt of the rifle, and the would-be blow to the head turned into a struggle for survival. 

“Shoot him, Percival, by God!” the officer yelled. “Do it now!”

The officer in question was obviously a young boy, and he held his rifle with shaking hands. It was obvious that he could not get a clear shot, and Castiel wrapped an arm around his neck as he backed up, pressing a dagger into his spine.

“I believe it’s in your best interest to ignore that order,” the Commodore hissed, and immediately the gun clattered to the ground as the boy turned white. In an instant, Castiel had retrieved it and pointed it in the other officer’s face. Suddenly finding himself unarmed and unaided, and at the prospect of being blown to bits, the man threw up his hands in fear.

“That’s better,” Winchester smirked. “Now be a good couple of lads, and out of those uniforms you go.”

“How dare you!” the older officer sputtered. “You’ll be in chains yet, you bastard of a--”

The click of the hammer on the gun Castiel still held made the officer let out an audible gulp. “Right, then,” he choked. “Percival, do as he says.”

“Y-yes, sir,” the boy blurted, and Winchester watched in satisfaction as the two stripped to nothing but their long underwear. The Corsair took the uniforms with a chuckle, tapping his head.

“I’ll have those as well, I’m afraid.”

“I dare say you shall not take our wigs!” Apparently, the man was still having trouble realizing who was giving the orders, and Castiel shoved the rifle’s barrel against the man’s mouth.

“And I daresay your fellows will find you quite literally speechless if you continue to refuse.”

. . . 

John slid his blade from the heart of an officer and quickly glanced over his shoulder. For a man with one leg, Robert was doing quite well for himself as he dispatched two guards at once and turned to cut another from ear to ear. Despite the situation, John could not help but smirk. It appeared that his son and Castiel would be safe after all.

A wild yell cut through the air, and then the elder Corsair found himself flat on his back, Northburn grappling for his weapon as he pinned him to the cool, damp prison floor.

“You shall not escape me twice, Corsair,” the man spat, as they fought bitterly for purchase. “Once I have sent you on to the hereafter, your son and his disgraced lover shall be next.”

John scrabbled for his dirk, but Northburn was faster, knocking it out of his hand. It skittered across the stones and disappeared into the dimly lit crevasses of a nearby cell.

“Fool,” Northburn snarled. “Did you honestly believe that I would allow you to live?”

“I do not recall asking for your permission,” John growled, and drove a knee harshly into Northburn’s stomach. The Commodore grunted in pain, his hold loosening, and John used the moment to throw the other man off.

Northburn’s eyes were slits of hatred as he rose quickly, staring at the elder Corsair as though trying to slay him by look alone.

“Your body will be hung from the prison walls,” he hissed, “assuming I do not eviscerate you first.” Northburn drew his sword with a resounding ring of cold steel.

John’s fingers flew to his waist, but before he was able to retrieve his own blade, Northburn’s sliced through the tender flesh of his dominant hand. The elder Corsair snarled in anguish, stumbling back. Blood ran from his wrist in dark rivulets, and Northburn smiled evilly.

“That will leave a decorative scar, Corsair. And I daresay you are currently in quite a predicament.”

John stood tall as the tip of Northburn’s sword pressed painfully into his jugular. If he was indeed made to follow Death, he would not give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him beg for his life.

Northburn’s eyes gleamed with the emotion nonetheless. “Farewell, Corsair. May Hell be to your liking.”

“Indeed. However, it is you her demons wait for, Northburn. Drop your sword.”

The voice was as cold as ice, and John grinned as he saw Castiel and his son behind the Commodore, dressed in like manner as their enemy. Northburn stiffened, but as Castiel’s rifle pressed insistently against his spine, his weapon clattered to the ground.

“Good choice,” Robert drawled darkly, from where he leaned against the wall.

The other man smiled tightly as Castiel herded him into an empty cell and quickly swung the door shut, locking it. “Do not think that you have escaped judgment,” he sniffed. “Michael will not stand for this.”

“Novak will answer for his crimes,” Winchester said sharply, “and you shall both be swung off.”

A sneer turned Northburn’s lips upward. 

“Even were it so, the Crown will never release pardon for your own sins. And Ms. Novak will die before she is able to beg for mercy for your tainted souls.”

Castiel lunged forward and caught Northburn by the throat, pulling him forward against the bars. 

“What do you know of my sister’s fate?” he snarled. “Answer me!”

Northburn chuckled. “Michael has sent a servant boy to do the errand he cannot fulfill. Within hours she will die of an unfortunate overdose of laudanum--if she has not already.”

Castiel’s eyes were wild as he turned to Winchester. 

“We must stop him,” he gasped, and John spoke, grasping the frantic Commodore by the shoulders.

“Has she any way of escaping her fate?” he asked, and then, as Castiel’s face grew paler, he gave the other man a firm shake. “Think, boy!”

“No,” Castiel replied desperately, but then caught John’s arm. “Wait--her maid, Prudence, cares deeply for Anna. If she has been warned of Michael’s plan somehow, she may attempt a coup.”

“Is there anywhere that your sister would feel safe?” Winchester demanded. “Someone that she would turn to?”

Castiel’s eyes were troubled. “If she knows of the danger, there is only one place that I know Prudence would bring her--one place Michael would not think to look.”

“Where?” Robert demanded, and Castiel’s gaze met the other pirate’s.

“To us.”


	24. Chapter 24

Anna gazed up at the prison walls, her heart in her throat. She could only pray that Prudence was right, or else they would both meet their Maker. 

“Prudence,” she whispered. “How can you be certain that this will ensure my survival?”

The maid looked at her for a long moment before speaking softly. “I cannot, milady. Yet it is the best course of action we have.”

Anna’s lip trembled, but she nodded. Prudence squeezed her hand tightly, pulling her forward.

. . .

Winchester glanced at Castiel as the crew stocked up on weapons and ammunition from the armory. The Commodore watched the proceedings with what was obviously half a mind, and the Corsair left his men to it, approaching his lover to touch his shoulder.

Castiel jumped, turning to Winchester with bloodshot eyes. The Corsair said only, “Speak to me.”

The Commodore swallowed. “All that I am able to focus on is how harshly I will be judged should Anna perish.”

“ ‘Twill not be your doing if she does,” Winchester replied carefully. “Her blood will be on Michael’s hands.”   
Castiel’s gaze was anguished as it met Winchester’s. “I would pray that her blood was not spilled at all.”

The Corsair pulled Castiel into an embrace, kissing him gently. “I swear that I shall do all I can to save her from the evil machinations of your brother.”

Castiel shook his head, eyes filled with despair. “What if we are already too late?”   
“Seems like you ain’t yet.”

Robert’s voice was heard over the sudden stillness in the room, and both men turned. Winchester wrapped a firm arm around Castiel’s shoulders as the other man’s knees suddenly buckled.

“Anna,” he breathed.

. . .

Prudence held on to the woman beside her as all eyes landed on them. The maid wondered that she was not afraid, but she supposed that she had not yet had time to be.

Anna let out a cry as a tall, dark-haired man stepped forward, her fingers digging into Prudence’s flesh. “Castiel?”

In an instant, Castiel had swept her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. “I had thought you dead,” he whispered thickly, noting painfully how very feverish his sister was as she clung weakly to him.

“Prudence has saved my life,” she whispered back, and then added, her voice barely to be heard, “I thank God that I have seen you this one last time.”

Castiel pulled back, his expression devastated. “Do not say such things.”

She smiled sadly. “I will not live to see the sunrise in three days’ time. There is nothing to be done for it.”

“I would not hold such a bleak view.”

Anna grasped Castiel’s hand tightly as Winchester approached them. It was clear that she was nervous, but the Corsair quickly put her at ease.

“I mean you no harm.”

Anna watched him for a moment without speaking, but her grip on her brother loosened. “I feel that you are a good man,” she said softly.

“I have never been such a one, lass,” Winchester admitted, “but I cannot in good conscience allow you to perish. It would break your brother’s heart, and in so doing break mine.”   
Anna’s eyes flicked from the Corsair to Castiel, and suddenly understanding dawned in her gaze as she noticed the ring Castiel wore. 

“You are bound together.”

“Aye,” Winchester replied quietly. “Does this disturb you?”

A relieved smile crossed Anna’s face. “No,” she replied, with a sigh. “It is good that my brother will be cared for after I am gone.”   
Castiel appeared stricken with grief, and Winchester moved forward, reaching out to gently lift Anna’s chin. To Castiel’s surprise, she allowed it, and the Corsair carefully examined her drawn features, noting the pallor of her skin and the heat radiating underneath his fingertips. 

“You are suffering,” he murmured, and tears filled Anna’s eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I find that I am praying for my death daily.”

Compassion Anna had never expected to see in a pirate flickered across Winchester’s face. “Allow me to help you.”

“How is this possible, when even the physician was not able to aid me?” 

Winchester’s thumb caressed her jaw lightly. “Even the most learned of men can miss the simplest of solutions.”   
Anna suddenly swayed where she stood, and Winchester quickly caught her as her legs gave way. Her breathing was shallow.

“We have little time,” he said. The Commodore swallowed, but gave a terse nod.

“I will handle Michael. Take her to the ship.”

“You shan’t be going alone.”

Castiel turned to face John. “I cannot allow you to accompany me.”

The elder Corsair’s eyebrow lifted, and Robert rumbled, “Don’ think he was askin’ fer yer permission, boy.”

“Michael is a dangerous man,” Castiel tried. “He is not be underestimated.”

John’s eyes glinted with something that Castiel did not care to identify as he answered, “As am I.”

“Then ‘tis fruitless to have any more discussion,” Winchester said, and nodded at them both. “Go. We are more than capable of handling things here.”

Castiel touched his cheek, and the Corsair shut his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there was a look he knew well in their depths, and without another word, Castiel followed John.

. . .

John was quiet as they skirted along alleys, his expression focused. Castiel could not help but wonder what, exactly, the other man was thinking, and suddenly realized that he was not sure he wanted to know.

The elder Corsair must have seen his thoughts upon his face, for his words reflected all that the Commodore imagined.

“ ‘Tis my hope that you understand your brother is not long for this world.”   
Castiel stared at John as they paused to catch their breath. Despite what had been done to all of them, he found he could not keep his heart from sinking at the implication in the words.

“You mean to slay him.”   
John’s eyes were like stone, hard and unyielding. “Be he family or not, Castiel, I will have my revenge. And I will not allow you to stay my hand.” 

Castiel swallowed hard. “And once you have achieved your revenge, what shall you do? Bitterness of such a kind as yours turns a man sour.”

John’s jaw set in a tight line. “When you have lost what you held most dear, then you may speak to me of bitterness, Castiel. Now come. Time is wasting.”

. . . 

Michael idly fingered the hidden mother-of-pearl pistol at his waist as he stood on the veranda, watching the bustling street and docks below with sharp eyes. Those in his employ whom he had dispatched to inquire about the location of his sister and her maid had not yet come back, yet the Governor was confident that justice would be done once they had returned. 

“Your pardon, sir.”

\Michael turned to see his trusted advisor Griffith in the doorway. “What is it?”

“Your couriers have arrived. It appears that Ms. Novak and her assistant have taken refuge with Winchester’s crew.”   
Michael drew himself up at once, every muscle stiff. “This is certain?”   
“Yes, sir--and your brother has been witnessed in the company of the elder Corsair Winchester, heading in this direction. It would seem they plan to seek revenge.”

A dark smile curved Michael’s lips upward as he turned back to watch the crowds. “So it would seem, indeed.”


	25. Chapter 25

“Please, do not do this.”

John turned to face Castiel as they crouched on the edges of Michael’s property. There was nothing but ice in his gaze. 

“You would see fit to talk me out of it? Must I remind you what this blaggard has cost us all?”   
“That is not--”

“It seems to me you would do well to examine where your loyalties lie, Commodore,” John said, his voice low and dangerous, and Castiel’s eyes narrowed at the insult.

“If you believe that I wish to protect Michael, you are sorely mistaken,” he snapped. “Perhaps your eldest was correct when he spoke to me of your ability to dive headlong into things, long before considering the consequences.” 

Before John’s fist could rise and strike him, Castiel added sharply, “These grounds are heavily watched. Michael has many on his personal payroll, including those that you would not expect. We must be on our guard at all times. My plea was for you to consider a course of action before simply deciding to attack.”

Some of the stiffness left John’s shoulders, and he stared hard at the Commodore. “What is your suggestion, then?”

. . .

Anna’s eyes fluttered as Winchester bathed her face with a damp cloth, yet she did not remove her gaze from his countenance. 

“What is your purpose?” she asked, and he paused, holding her gaze. 

“What is it that you are asking?”   
“I have seen many men that do not have your spirit,” she said quietly. “I believe that there is more to wanting my eldest brother dead than you allow others to see.”

Winchester did not break eye contact, but his answer was long in coming. At last he replied, “Have you known a love so deep that you would kill for it? One that stirs your very soul, and sends you on a desperate quest to be a better creature than when you were found?”

Anna shook her head, enthralled by his yearning tone, and Winchester gave her a quick, small smile before continuing. 

“I have plundered many ships, but never did I expect that my heart would one day be stolen. I am well aware that my sins outweigh any good I may have done, yet Castiel does not see the evil inherent in my very being. His passion for me is like a burning torch, guiding my way through the darkness of this life and, gods willing, into the next. I cannot allow that flame to be extinguished.” His eyes searched hers. “Do you understand, lass?”

Silently, Anna nodded, a lump in her throat. It was clear that the pirate captain was very much in love with her sibling, and at that moment, she made a vow to herself that she would keep them both safe, no matter the cost.

Winchester dipped the cloth in a bowl of water and wrung it out before speaking again, his voice harder than before.

“Your eldest brother will do more than eradicate piracy if he is not stopped. All that remains of good on these waters will perish, including any that do not agree with his ways.” Gently, he added, “Your presence here is proof of his madness.”   
A tear slid from the corner of Anna’s eye unbidden, and she whispered, “I am sorry for the pain he has caused you and yours. Michael was never such a devil. I know there is still good in his heart, though it may be buried deep.”   
Winchester’s reply was grim. “I fear that it may be buried too deep to retrieve before the end.”

She looked away, and the Corsair’s heart went out to her. Carefully, he took her hand. “I swear to you that my crew and I shall do all we can to bring Castiel back safely. It is clear he means much to you.”

“And to you,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers weakly. “I had hoped that I might remain on this earth to witness your joining, but I fear that is but a false hope.”   
Winchester shook his head. “I advised you before that all hope is not lost. I know what ails you.”   
Anna’s lips trembled. “Then you must also know that it is a disease from which there is no escape.”

“Do not trust the word of those who live for gold,” Winchester replied swiftly. “Not all medicine need be taken from a bottle.”

For the first time in many months, a faint hope sprang up in Anna’s heart. “Can you truly heal me?” she whispered.

“Not I alone, lass, but I have no doubt it can be done. All that it requires is your trust.”

Surprising Winchester, Anna struggled halfway into a sitting position, her eyes filled with resolve.

“Then you shall have it.”

. . .

“Sir, if I may speak to it, this sounds rather suicidal.”

Michael smirked at Griffith. “That is exactly what my brother and the Corsair will think. When they believe that they have gained substantial ground, then we shall have our victory.”

The other man seemed perplexed. “What is it that you plan to do, my lord?”

Michael poured himself two fingers of whiskey and tossed it back. “A good strategist never reveals his hand. All will be made plain in time.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I should say it’s a simple matter of leverage.”

Griffith’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what the Governor meant. “Your own sister?”

“Of course. How else do you believe my stubborn brother will agree to give himself up for the noose? And once the younger Corsair discovers his dear lover is destined to hang, he will no doubt attempt a rescue--and then we shall be rid of them both.”

Griffith hesitated. Michael noticed at once, and snapped, “What is it?”   
“Forgive me, my lord, but what then shall happen to Ms. Novak?”   
Michael’s eyes darkened. “What should have occurred at the first--she will die a peaceful death brought on by the white plague.” For just a moment, his gaze filled with a terrible grief. “This is the only way, Griffith. If I am to burn eternally for saving Anna from unspeakable torment, I will gladly do so.”    
In the next moment, the Governor the other man knew had returned as Michael spoke. 

“The wheel of fortune has begun to turn in our favor, Griffith. Do not cause me to regret my choice to employ you.”


	26. Chapter 26

Castiel pressed his back against the wall of the house as two gardeners passed by on the other side. The Commodore knew for a fact that they were under Michael’s authority, and it was clear that the hoes they held were for far more than tilling soil. 

John spared him a brief glance. “Would you care to divulge your plan now?” he muttered, his hand wrapped loosely around the hilt of his blade.

Castiel lifted his chin toward a servant’s door mere feet from them. “We enter through there.”

“And then what, pray tell? The inside will be swarming with those loyal to this bastard. I fear that you do not know what you are about, Castiel.”

The other man ground his teeth before replying. “I was born and raised here. This was once my home, and I am aware of places where even the servants do not go. We will not be discovered.”

John simply shook his head. “May the gods be willing that you are right.” 

Castiel had taken but three steps forward when he was thrown to the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he stared in disbelief at the man in John’s grasp, who struggled for his life. As he looked on, the tip of the elder Corsair’s dagger ran smoothly across his assailant’s throat, and he fell like a stone.

“Quickly, now,” John urged. “That scuffle will have been heard.”

The Commodore delicately walked over the dead man’s body and pushed open the door. The scent of bread and pastries met his nostrils, and for a brief moment, Castiel allowed himself the luxury of memory. He and Anna had once chased each other merrily through the kitchens when they were young, upending trays and disturbing the cooks until they had been caught by their governess, white with flour from head to toe. The Commodore swallowed. How things had changed.

“Castiel,” John hissed behind him. “This is not the time for reminiscing, boy.”

Mentally shaking himself out of his reverie, Castiel put a finger to his lips, soundlessly pointing to a set of stairs across the room before looking heavenward. John understood at once, and nodded.

On quiet feet, the two stepped over the threshold, keeping a low profile. A knot formed in Castiel’s stomach as he realized that what should have been a bustling area was devoid of anyone, and from the grim look John threw him, the other man had noticed as well.

They were not stopped as they ascended the stairs, and the Commodore’s feeling of dread grew as they entered a richly carpeted hallway. If nothing else, the sounds of their booted feet were now entirely muffled, and for that, at least, Castiel was grateful as they approached a partway open door.

John had paused, his knuckles white around his sword, and Castiel recognized Michael’s form sitting at his desk, his profile facing them. It was clear that from their angle, the Governor would never see them coming.

“And so it ends,” John whispered, and before Castiel could move to stop him, he had flung the door open all the way and strode inside.

. . .

“What the devil--” 

Michael leapt from his chair with a snarl, and then, his expression turned to one of cool disdain.

“Corsair Winchester,” he said softly. “Have you no sense, accosting me in my own home?” His eyes flicked to Castiel, filled with bitterness. “And you, brother of mine, siding with a pirate?” The Governor spat the words as though they tasted like raw fish. “I will see to it that both of you are swung off immediately.”

“You are hardly in a position to make threats.” John’s voice was dangerously soft. “You shall admit to your misdeeds, Novak--publicly--and then will be served the due punishment for your crimes.”

Michael snorted. “Fools. What gives you the impression that I have planned for either? One cry from my throat, and you are both dead men.”   
John rounded the desk in an instant, catching Michael by the hair and dragging his head back. The edge of his blade pressed roughly into the other man’s throat, hard enough to draw a bright red line of blood.

“Oh, do scream,” John murmured harshly. “ ‘Twould be my honor to silence your voice forever.”

“It is over, Michael,” Castiel said quietly, perhaps even sadly. “Justice will be done.”

The hatred in Michael’s eyes was enough to burn the Commodore alive, but he did not speak as John herded him out of the study and down the stairs with Castiel on his heels. A crowd had begun to curiously gather. Murmurs broke out as the citizens of Port Lawrence saw their Governor in such a position, and John hissed in Michael’s ear, “These same people, whom you have oppressed for so long, are the very ones who will watch you hang. Your power has been taken from you.”

Michael’s expression was strangely calm now as he replied, and Castiel found himself filled with a horrifying sense of dread at the words, though he could not place a finger on why his brother’s sudden demeanor chilled him so.

“It was never power I was after, Corsair.”


	27. Chapter 27

“What in the gods’ name did he mean?” 

Michael leaned calmly against the wall of his cell, arms crossed causally. He appeared completely unruffled, and the sight made the Commodore’s blood run cold. Castiel had no doubt that they had been played for fools, but the exact nature of that deception was yet to be known. He simply shook his head, and John let out an irritated snort.

“I know well what will loosen his tongue,” he commented darkly, and Castiel turned, his voice sharp.

“I will not watch as you torture him.”

John’s eyes gleamed. “I did not ask you to witness it.”

“What good will come of it?” Castiel was rapidly losing his patience with the elder Corsair, who seemed far too intent on spilling blood. “My brother cannot speak without a tongue.”

“What good?” John repeated incredulously. “You plan to give this monster leniency? Are you truly that blind?”

Michael began to laugh quietly, and both Castiel and John turned to him. “What is so amusing?” the Commodore demanded.

Michael’s eyes were filled with a devilish amusement as he spoke. “I find it quite entertaining that you are both under the impression you have won.”

Once more, Castiel’s stomach dropped to his feet. “Explain,” he ordered, but Michael only chuckled.

“Supposing you recall your days in the Royal Navy, what is the first rule of combat, Castiel?”

The Commodore found his throat had gone very dry as John spoke softly. “There are no rules.”

“Mm, very good, Corsair,” the Governor hummed idly. “As such, did you truly believe I would leave myself open to attack, with no recourse?” He smiled, the look of a cat that had just swallowed the canary. 

Heavy suspicion dawned in John’s eyes. “What have you done, Novak?”

Michael shrugged lightly. “I’ve simply used the leverage I have.”

“Leverage?” John snapped, and stepped forward, reaching through the bars to haul Michael forward by his collar. “What is it that you speak of?”

“Anna,” Castiel whispered, his body gone ice cold. “He means our sister.”

. . .

Winchester carefully helped Anna to a standing position, waiting as she found her balance. When she nodded, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the upper deck of the  _ Mary. _

The woman’s eyes grew clearer as she breathed in deeply of the fresh salt air surrounding the docked ship, and she smiled at him.

“I shall much enjoy it when we are on the open sea.”

Winchester gave a relieved nod. “And so shall I. It has been too long since I have felt the rolling of the waves.”   
“The next time you’ll feel them shall be when you are struggling to breathe under their weight.”   
Winchester spun, and immediately his hand flew to his blade. His crew stood behind him, surrounded by members of the Royal Navy. Guns and blades focused on the men told Winchester all he needed to know.

“Commodore Northburn,” he gritted. “How the devil did you escape?”

The other man aimed his pistol at Winchester’s skull with a steady hand. “You will address me as Vice Admiral Northburn, Corsair. If you wish your companions to live, you shall admit your part in the kidnapping of Ms. Novak, repent of your life of piracy, and accept the fact that you shall soon dance the hempen jig for your crimes, as it were.”

Winchester snarled, “The lady came to me of her own volition. As far as my chosen way of life, that was forced upon me by circumstances of Michael Novak’s making. If I am to admit to anything, it is my hatred for that rapscallion.”

Northburn watched him for a moment. “I see,” he said coolly, and then, faster than Winchester could move, he’d caught Anna around the waist, pressing the gun into her side.

“Now,” he hissed, “let us revisit the idea of surrender again.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	28. Chapter 28

Castiel and John raced to the docks, heedless of how many in the crowd they shoved aside. Fear of what Northburn, under Michael’s orders, had already done to Anna, Winchester, and the crew made his legs pump faster until his lungs were near to bursting.

John was the first to reach the ship. They could hear Northburn’s voice raised harshly, and the elder Corsair put a finger to his lips, pointing to the rigging. Castiel followed as they cautiously ascended the side of the  _ Mary _ .

Castiel pulled himself over the rail first, dropping on silent feet into a crouch. The brush of an arm next to him let Castiel know John had also swung himself over, but that was not the Commodore’s main concern. He stared in horror at the gun in his sister’s side, and her pale, terrified face.

By the gods’ luck, they faced the backs of Northburn and his men. Winchester’s eyes flicked to them briefly, but he gave no other indication that he knew they were present. For that, Castiel was ever grateful. There need be no casualties that day.

“You are a fool, Corsair,” Northburn was saying, as the two men inched their way across the deck. “Do you truly desire more blood on your hands than you have? Castiel is already dead.”

Winchester froze, fury and grief flaring to life in his eyes. “You lie,” he spat.

Northburn dug the gun’s muzzle further into Anna’s side, and the Commodore saw red as she whimpered. Forcing himself to remain calm, he moved closer in tandem with John. 

“You may see his body, if you lay down arms,” he snapped. “If not, I shall give it to the sharks to feed upon, along with this wench.” He pulled Anna closer.

The two were almost upon the Royal Navy’s last line of men. Robert, standing cornered by three soldiers, suddenly saw them both.

“Don’ think now’s a good time t’ be braggin’ ‘bout yer successes,” he called out. Northburn, still with eyes on Winchester, snarled, “And pray tell, why not?”

“Oh, nuthin’, just thought ya might wanna know Winchester’s daddy and the Commodore are ‘bout t’ give ya all hell.”

A rousing cry went up from the crew, and before the Navy was fully prepared, the men engaged the group in a tangle of fists, feet, and weaponry. Without looking their way as he fenced with two of the soldiers, Robert hollered at Castiel, “Get yer sister outta harm’s way, boy! We ain’t done for yet!”

John withdrew his blade with a resounding ring of steel, his eyes fixated on Northburn. “Go,” he commanded. “Dean and I will take care of him.”

Castiel had barely allowed him to finish his sentence before he was sliding across wood wet with blood, slicing through two of the Royal Navy who dared attempt to belay him. They fell to join the growing mass of bodies.

The Commodore skidded to a stop against the farthest rail, and Anna flung herself into his arms. He held her at arms’ length.

“Hide below until I find you,” he ordered. She shook her head desperately. 

“No,” she pleaded. “I will not stow myself away like a coward while you face your death.”

“Do as I say!” Castiel shook her lightly. “I cannot--”

Whatever he had been about to say next was cut off by the sharp agony of steel slicing through his midsection, and Castiel stumbled back, his belly on fire and Anna’s scream ringing in his ears. Though he tried to remain standing, his legs would not obey, and as he sagged to his knees, a shadow fell across his path.

Michael’s words were cold as he watched Castiel struggle for oxygen. 

“Tell me, do you fear death, brother?”

. . .

Winchester retrieved his blade from the neck of one of the Royal Navy just in time to hear Anna’s cry. When he turned to give her aid, his body went numb. 

Castiel knelt before Michael, whose blade gleamed with his brother’s blood. A rapidly spreading bright red pool was visible on the Commodore’s tunic, and Winchester’s throat worked with a roar of denial as Castiel slowly crumpled to the deck.

Michael met Winchester’s strike easily, fending off the Corsair’s would-be kill with a snarl.

“Fool,” he snapped. “Did you think you would walk away from this battle unscathed? I will not allow you to taste victory.”

Winchester’s chest heaved with rage. “May the Devil take you,” he ground out, and Michael laughed cruelly at the tears brimming in the other man’s eyes, sparing Castiel a brief glance.

“You loved him, then, I assume?”   
With a bellow, Winchester flung his weapon aside and charged the other man. Surprised at Winchester’s courage, Michael tumbled to the deck with the Corsair atop him.

. . . 

John cursed as he saw his son grappling with Novak mere feet away, their blades abandoned. While he could not deny the pride he felt in Dean’s bravery, he was quite well aware that the weapons were both within reach, and John had no doubt that the Governor would not think twice about running Winchester through at an opportune moment. Quickly, he dispatched with the officer in front of him and battled his way across the fray toward his child.

Halfway across the deck, a bloodied and ragged Northburn stepped in his path. 

John stiffened, every muscle taut, and the other man eyed him like a piece of meat to be devoured, a crazed glint in his eyes. 

“I believe we are long overdue for this,” was all Northburn said, and lunged.

. . .

Winchester landed on the deck painfully as Novak skillfully flipped him onto his back. Willing his wheezing breath to return to normal, he began to choke as Novak pressed a knee into his chest and wrapped his hands around his throat, squeezing tightly. The sky above Winchester darkened, and his limbs grew heavy with his approaching death. Gazing at Castiel’s still body, the Corsair welcomed his impending demise. 

_ I shall meet you soon, my love,  _ he thought.

“Stop!”

The pressure from the other man’s attack was gone immediately, and Winchester drew in blessed air. As he rose unsteadily to one knee, he saw Anna. Despite her gown being covered in blood not her own, she radiated no fear as she pleaded, “Michael, enough. This must end.”

Novak eyed her with distaste. “And what manner of bargain could you possibly offer me to stave off the deaths of everyone here?”

Anna stood tall as she answered. “Myself.”

Michael cocked an eyebrow at that. The woman’s voice was steady as she said, “Call off your men, and I give you my word that I…” Her lip trembled. “You may finish what you began.”


	29. Chapter 29

Winchester looked at Anna in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, lass,” he croaked, and she smiled sadly at him.

“There are worse ways to die.”

“You would allow your own flesh and blood to send you to Paradise?” The Corsair could hardly believe it, and began to rise.

Michael kicked him brutally in the side with the toe of his boot, and Winchester heard a distinctive crack. He tumbled to the deck, seeing stars.

“Stay down,” the Governor spat.

“Please,” Anna begged, and Michael’s gaze returned to her, full of ice.

“You will never keep your word,” he said shortly, and waved his arm in Winchester’s general direction. “This brigand has corrupted you. And I do not plan to chase you to the ends of the earth in an attempt to collect my due.”

“Have you grown so cold, brother?” Anna pleaded, and Winchester did not miss the way her eyes filled with tears as she looked at Castiel’s still form mere feet away. “There was a time when your disposition was quite different.”   
Michael paused suddenly. “There has been no other way, Anna. Surely you understand this.”

Anna took a tentative step forward, and then another. “There is still time to change,” she whispered.

A muscle in Michael’s jaw twitched. “Even were I to possess the will to do so, it is too late.”

The woman reached up to touch his cheek. “When true remorse is involved, it is never too late.”

Winchester let out a shout as Michael caught her wrist, twisting it in his grip as he scowled.

“Oh, little sister, how eager you have always been to see the best in me.” Bitterness rose in his eyes. “Everything has been taken from me, including you. Do not think I will not exact revenge for this.” He spun her in his grip, pulling her back against his body as he pointed his pistol, point-blank range, at Winchester. “And I will start by ridding the earth of this scum.”   
If Michael expected the Corsair to entreat him, he found himself severely disappointed as Winchester stared resolutely down the barrel. Michael appeared incensed.

“You will beg me for your life,” he snapped, and Winchester replied calmly, “I shall do no such thing.”

Michael tightened his arm around Anna, and for the second time that day, Winchester found himself watching helplessly as a gun was trained on her.

“Now,  _ beg _ ,” Michael ordered in a hiss, “or I swear by the heavens above that you shall watch her die. I am through playing at children’s games, and I do not intend to-”

“Let her go, Novak.” 

The commanding voice was unmistakable, and a dark sneer curled Michael’s lips upward as he turned with his sister still held fast by his side.

“Well, well,” he murmured. “It seems that John Winchester has come to play the hero once more. Tell me, what are you willing to risk this time for a woman’s life? If I recall, you lost all long ago. Would you do so again?”

The elder Corsair drew back the hammer on his pistol, his eyes filled with a cold loathing that his son had never before witnessed so powerfully. 

“I speak the truth when I profess you shall die by my hand this day, Novak. Your reign of terror has come to an end.”   
“Has it?” Michael hissed. Anna squeaked painfully as his fingers closed around her arm in a brutal grip. John’s eyes narrowed as he saw the way she was being used as a shield. With the young woman in the way, the elder Corsair had no clear shot, and Michael knew it.

“Come now,” Michael mocked. “Such hesitation, after everything that has reached my ears regarding the beast you have become?”

Fury filled John’s breast, but he kept it in check. Lashing out would not serve a purpose, not when Anna’s life hung in the balance.

“Forgive me, Corsair,” Michael smirked, “but I do believe you have lost your nerve. Perhaps this would enable you to make a decision.”   
Without warning, he’d shoved the frail young woman violently over the rail. Her scream echoed in John’s ears, and then there was only silence.

Michael withdrew his own pistol, the look of the devil himself on his face. 

“When once you meet your Maker, perhaps then you will understand what true power is.”

. . .

John matched Michael step for step as they circled each other, their gazes locked. In his peripheral vision, the elder Corsair could see his son scramble to the Commodore’s side, but he had not time to worry himself with Castiel’s condition. He could only pray that the gods would see fit to spare him.

“You have changed,” Michael snickered. “Once there was a time when the mere thought of the destruction of innocent lives brought you no pain. And yet I see your grief now as clear as day.”

“The death of such a beautiful creature as Ms. Novak warrants my misery,” John replied tersely. “You shall be led to hell for this act, perhaps more than all others you have committed. She was your very flesh and blood.”

“You know nothing of hell,” Michael spat, and John’s grip tightened on the pistol’s handle. He had heard the different inflections of many a man’s voice over the years, and was quite certain that Novak’s shook violently. 

“Think you that I take pleasure in this?” the other man continued fiercely, his eyes wild as those of a trapped animal. “Her demise was foretold long ago by many a physician. I eased her passing.”

John shook his head in utter disbelief. “By throwing her to the depths of Davy Jones’ Locker? You have truly gone mad.”

Michael’s hand trembled around the pistol, and as he moved, so did John. Every step the elder Corsair took brought him closer to the man, yet Novak seemed not to notice, lost as he was in his delusions.

“I had no other choice, you see,” he said, almost as though he were in a dream. “It was the only way.”

Winchester caught his father’s eye, and gave a nearly imperceptible nod. The Commodore would live. It was the news John needed, and quickly, as Michael lowered his gun slightly, the elder Corsair lunged.

At first stunned, Michael recovered quickly, and as their pistols clattered to the deck and were lost amidst the ongoing battle between the others, the wrestling match between them for control of John’s sword drove them to the edge of the rail. Chancing a glance over the side of the ship, John saw Anna lying atop a pile of crates on the lower deck. She was unconscious, but very much alive.

His attention was brought back to the present as Michael bent him backwards, until it felt as though his very spine would crack. Struggling for air, white spots hovering on the edges of his vision, John kicked out desperately, and Michael grunted in pain, stumbling away. 

When John reached for his sword, he found only an empty sheath, and looked up in time to witness Michael charge at him with a roar. 

Something that John could not see threw him to the deck, and when he rose to face the Governor, he found Michael frozen to the spot.

“What sorcery is this?” he hissed.

Uncomprehending, John turned. What he saw was nothing short of a miracle--or something else, of a much darker nature.

Mary Winchester’s cold gaze was fixed solely on Michael Novak. The dress she wore was torn and bloodied, her skin pale and bruised. She moved faster than could be followed by the naked eye, and within a moment, the Governor’s horrified scream had been silenced forever.

John stepped back in fear as she turned to him, but as her hand caressed his cheek, tears filled the elder Corsair’s eyes.

“My love,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

She smiled softly, and John closed his eyes, tears spilling as her lips brushed his forehead. When he opened them again, it was to hear her whisper on the salty ocean wind.

“Beloved.”


	30. Chapter 30

The demise of their leader had brought the remainder of the men under Michael’s command to their senses, and they were now stowed below decks under the watchful eyes of Robert and Rufus. The rest of the  _ Mary _ ’s crew were involved in the disposal of bodies and the ensuing cleanup of the decks. Anna had been taken to Winchester’s own quarters, along with Castiel, and John stood at the bow with his son as they awaited word of their separate conditions. 

Winchester’s hands trembled where he gripped the rail, his gaze somewhere far away from the immediate situation. He jumped when his father’s hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“You have done well,” John said softly. “Your mother…” He paused, his throat tightening, and continued. “You are indeed her son--brave and wise.”

Winchester laughed bitterly. 

“I am a fool,” he ground out, clearly fighting back tears. “I believed that Castiel would escape Michael’s madness, and yet he lies below, gravely wounded. I may never see his face again in this life, and his sister fares no better.”

John tightened his grip on his quivering son. “Do not give in to despair so quickly. Many a man has been rendered helpless by it, and yet the gods have lent him their mercy.”

“Mercy?” Winchester snorted. “I do not deserve such a thing.” He swallowed hard. “Yet for Castiel, I would gladly beg for it.”

“Captain?”

Both John and his son turned on instinct at the surgeon’s call, and respectfully, John stepped back. “ ‘Tis your ship, lad.”

Winchester shook his head. “I cannot bear the ill news,” he rasped, and waved his father in the other man’s general direction before turning back to the sea.

John sighed, but did as he was asked. “What of the Novaks?” he inquired quietly.

“The lady is bruised and quite rattled, but she will survive. I have administered a small tincture of opium to aid in her rest.” The man paused, glancing at Winchester. For a moment, John feared the worst, at least until the surgeon spoke again.

“I’ve sewn up the Commodore, and advised he stay put. However, he is quite adamant that he will go to your son despite my demands if the Captain does not attend to him shortly.” A small smile crossed his face. “Both of them shall make a full recovery, or I am no doctor.”   
John released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, returning the smile. “I shall be certain to relay that message.”

. . .

Castiel slipped his tunic on slowly, wincing as the fabric stretched across his tender flesh. He resisted the urge to curse with his sister so near, choosing instead to pull himself to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily on his heels, and nearly crashed back down onto the coverlets.

“ ‘Tis plain to see that you do not intend to listen to the good doctor.”

Winchester’s quiet voice caused Castiel’s heart to quicken, and when the Corsair knelt before him, eyes filled with remorse and self-loathing, the Commodore placed a finger over his lips before he could ask for forgiveness.

“Don’t,” he murmured. “This is not your doing.”

Winchester’s eyes closed as Castiel traced the outline of his jaw, dampness hovering on his lashes. 

“I thought you dead,” he whispered. “I could not bear the thought of a life spent without your presence.” His Adam’s apple bobbed beneath the Commodore’s wrist. “My choices nearly brought about your undoing.”

“And yet I live,” Castiel soothed. “I shall not be gotten rid of so easily.”   
Winchester leaned forward, and Castiel’s hands wound in the Corsair’s soft, short locks as their lips met gently. When the other man at last pulled away, the Commodore whispered, “I will wait no longer to make you mine.”

Winchester’s fingers drifted over the band on Castiel’s finger, the cold metal both a comfort and a fierce reminder that no matter what the gods chose to throw at them, they would outlast it all.

“When we set sail,” he pledged, “we shall be mated in plain sight of the crew. No longer will I hide my love for you.”   
A smirk caused Castiel’s lips to turn upward. “Surely you do not believe that they are clueless as to our devotion for one another?”

At that, Winchester chuckled. “Nay. Yet if we are to be each other’s one and all, I require witnesses.” His eyes turned dark with arousal and frustration as his touch drifted to the Commodore’s elbow. “And when you are fully healed, it will be no secret whose bed you will be sleeping in.”

Castiel’s breath caught. “I would that moment was now,” he murmured, almost irritably, and Winchester smiled, kissing the Commodore’s palm.

“Patience, my love; be patient. We have all the time the gods choose to afford us.”

. . .

The day the  _ Mary  _ left port and found open sea, Castiel could not stop the tears that fell when Anna walked the length of the deck on her own for the first time, her steps sure and the color having returned to her face. Upon examination by the ship surgeon, she was found to be in full health, which elicited a rousing round of applause and cheers.

Winchester bent his head to kiss her hand. “ ‘Tis my pleasure to offer you a place in my crew,” he said, and she blushed happily as he presented her with new fur boots, long, warm breeches, and an elegant blouse. Castiel laughed the loudest when her firm kiss upon the Corsair’s cheek left Winchester flustered and sputtering. 

The news from the Crown that each member aboard the  _ Mary  _ had received pardon, on account of their heroic deeds in stopping Michael Novak, was met with intense celebration that lasted long into the evening. At last, the lamps were turned down low, and the crew gathered round the Commodore and the Corsair.

John stood before the two men, pride in his eyes as he spoke.

“You have made plain ‘tis your wish this day that you take the other as they are, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, to cherish, love, protect, and keep safe, from this day ‘til the last. If this remains your intent, hold forth your right hands.”

Without hesitation, both did so, and Robert stepped forward to bind them at the wrists with a length of red linen. John continued, “If ‘tis the aim of any to object to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your tongue.”

There was nothing but silence, and Robert shrugged. “Well, that answers th’ question of loyalty an’ acceptance on board this here ship.”

Quiet laughter was heard around them, and John replied with a chuckle, “ ‘Tis my joy to announce your mating complete.”

Without waiting for permission, Winchester swept Castiel into his arms. Whooping and hollering were raised in unison as he kissed the other man soundly. The Commodore appeared quite dazed when they broke apart. 

“I’d resign yourself to that the rest of your life!” Rufus shouted, and much laughter abounded.

Winchester tenderly brushed his knuckles across Castiel’s cheek, his heart soaring in joy when his husband leaned into his touch. 

“My heart is yours,” he murmured, and the Commodore smiled, leaning in until his lips were a mere hairsbreadth from the Corsair’s. 

“Was there ever any doubt?”

**END**


End file.
